The Portrait
by DariaSilver
Summary: After the war, Harry discovers that Voldemort dabbled in more than Horcruxes. Slash. HP/TR. Post Deathly Hallows. *CURRENTLY BEING RE-WRITTEN.*
1. Chapter 1

**Summary: **After the war, Harry discovers that Voldemort dabbled in more than Horcruxes. Slash. HP/TR. Post Deathly Hallows.

**Genre: **Drama/Romance

**Pairing:** Harry Potter and Tom Riddle

**Warning:** This is a story that features a slash pairing, meaning a homosexual romantic relationship between two men. Flames are a waste of my time and yours. If you don't like slash or the pairing of Harry Potter with Tom Riddle, don't read any further.

**Disclaimer: **I do not own any characters or locations from J.K. Rowling's Harry Potter series. All rights go to her.

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><p><strong>Author's Note: <strong>I have noticed that there is a distinct lack of Harry Potter/Tom Riddle fics in the HP fandom so here is my stab at writing a story featuring my favourite pairing. As such, I've come up with what I _think _is an original and hopefully interesting plot (as I've never seen any story quite like it) that allows a plausible way to realistically pair Harry and Tom together post-Deathly Hallows, while sticking to canon as closely as possible.

Having recently re-read the books, I've developed a newfound respect for J.K. Rowling. To be honest, when I read the books the first time around, I was bitterly disappointed by the way things ended; then JKR started revealing a lot of the Potterverse details in interviews, especially about the future of the characters, and I felt even more let down. The truth is, I think she changed direction after the fifth book and made different choices than she'd originally intended, and after that point, certain things got muddled. But, putting that aside, now that I've read the entire series in one go all these years later, I understand it from a new perspective. There are many layers and dimensions to the HP saga, all woven into the stories like hidden jewels, and there's a whole underworld that exists within the series that can be found if you look closely. In writing _this_ story, I want to show those gems that JKR scattered so carefully throughout the books. I want to reveal the other story within the series: the story of Harry Potter and Tom Marvolo Riddle, and the soulmate connection between them. At its very essence, the Harry Potter saga is about The Hero's Journey, an archetypical literary theme which is the driving impetus of most fantasy stories. I genuinely believe that JKR originally intended for Harry to be gay - perhaps striving to write a more progressive take on the Hero's Journey, featuring the first gay Hero - but couldn't go through with it once the books got so successful and she was under pressure from publishers and fans to make it a more conservative, traditional fairytale/fantasy series. I also believe that Harry and Tom are Twin Souls and that JKR managed to convey that in the stories in a slyly understated manner (and though I don't think she originally intended for them to be paired _romantically_, I do think she might have originally intended to emphasise that Twin Soul connection in a more obvious way to add a whole other level of tension between the two characters and an added complexity to the stories, but backed off and decided to make it more subtle). Of course, this is only my opinion, but I believe it to be true. In any case, for whatever reason, there are a few inconsistencies in JKR's development of canon HP (particularly between books 5 and 6), so I will be working in my own corrections and interpretations. Please note that I will be quoting a fair amount of dialogue taken directly from the books, and any dialogue taken from the books will be italicised.

I would like to clarify one thing. It is my writing process to just write while the momentum is flowing, until a story is finished, and then go back and do the full edit of the story afterwards. That means there will most certainly be mistakes and some sloppy writing at times along the way, but when I can, I often revisit and re-read what I've written up to that point and do a bit of polishing here and there. In short, what you will be reading is a first draft of sorts, so please keep that in mind.

This is going to be a long story with a very involved and intricate plot so if you're looking for a quick read or if you're interested mainly in Harry/Tom smut, this probably won't be your cup of tea. Harry, Tom and Voldemort will certainly be the central focus of this story but there will be a lot more to it than just those three characters and their relationships with each other. I don't want to reveal too much but I did want to make that clear.

Please check out my profile for the link to my livejournal to see the YouTube by genrocks called _Through The Pensieve_. It's a really fantastic retrospective of Harry's journey throughout the entire HP series. I think it makes the perfect prologue to this story so I urge you to watch it before reading.

And now, without further ado, on with the story!

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><p><strong>** Updated Author's Note: I am currently in the process of re-writing Chapters 1-9 (although I won't upload the revised story until I post Chapter 10 - that way, there won't be any confusion about which version is the up-to date one). The new version will likely be twice as long, and will have key plot points that can't be missed so unfortunately, I'm going to have to ask the readers to go back and read the story again once I've posted it. I've thought about pulling the story altogether and re-posting it when I finish the re-write but decided to keep this up and just replace the chapters.<strong>

**I apologise for the muddle and the delay but as I said in the initial Author's Note, this is a rough draft of sorts; and when I got to Chapter 10, I realised that everything I intended to put in that chapter should have been put in before. After going back and re-reading what I wrote, I saw it was more of an outline than a story. To be honest, I'm actually embarrassed that I posted what's up now - it's undeveloped and has no polish or finesse. The new version will have _a lot_ more detail and some very pivotal moments/revelations so I hope you'll all bear with me and read it again so you don't miss the new information and deeper foundation that will have been developed in the first nine chapters. Sorry again, but I wouldn't be able to go further with this story without doing this very important and necessary re-write. Hopefully, the new version will be worth the wait and trouble!**

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><p><strong>The Portrait<strong>

**Chapter One**

When Harry received the cryptically worded summons for an audience at Gringotts a fortnight after the Final Battle, he wasn't sure what to think. The only information revealed in the missive was that his presence was requested for a secret and private reading of the last will and testament of someone who wished to remain anonymous until the reading of the will. The last part of the letter was very clear: Harry was to tell _no one_ about it, as the identity of the mysterious benefactor was an extremely sensitive matter and the deceased had made Harry the heir and sole beneficiary of that person's estate, which, the letter obliquely hinted, was something that Harry would have to (or want to) keep confidential even after the reading of the will. At the bottom of the page was a space for his signature, along with the addendum that upon signing the letter, he would henceforth be bound to a magical contract that would prevent him from revealing the information contained within.

Harry stared at the parchment in his hand and frowned. So many people had died; but of all who perished, who would name _him_ as their heir? And who would want him to keep that information confidential? This couldn't be about Sirius, surely. As far as he understood, Harry had already been named the heir to the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, as he discovered the summer before Sixth Year (which was later confirmed by Kreacher in a more official capacity once the house-elf willingly accepted Harry as his true master), and although it wasn't common knowledge, he had never been asked to keep his status as the Black Heir a secret. No, it couldn't be about Sirius, Harry decided as he began to consider other potential candidates.

He thought of Dumbledore next but dismissed the idea when he remembered that Dumbledore's will had already been read and executed. So who could it be? Lupin? Maybe, but surely Remus would have made Teddy his heir, not Harry. Mad-Eye? Perhaps. Or... could it be... _Snape_? Yes, it was possible, Harry surmised as he scanned the contents of the Gringott's letter again. Unlikely, but possible. He was exactly the sort of person who would leave such mysterious and meticulously calculated instructions about the reading of his will, and who else but Severus Snape would insist on such secretive measures?

Leery of signing anything that would constitute a binding magical contract, Harry deliberated for a long while, weighing the pros and cons of doing so, but in the end, he signed the letter. He had to know what this was all about, so there didn't seem to be any other choice. It was just another secret he would have to keep.

He grimaced at the thought of the _other_ secret, the one he knew he could never tell another living soul: that he was once again in possession of the three Deathly Hallows. After the Final Battle, he had fully intended to return the Elder Wand to its previous resting place and to leave the Resurrection Stone in the Forbidden Forest where he'd dropped it. But then, he'd thought about it further, and realised the disastrous consequences that could happen if he left two of the Hallows in places where they could easily be found. Harry certainly hadn't asked for it but there was no getting around the fact that he was the one who had successfully united the Hallows, and like it or not, he was now the master of Death. As such, he felt it was his responsibility to keep the Hallows safe.

And so it was that the evening after the Battle, he slipped on his Invisibility Cloak and returned to the Forbidden Forest, Elder Wand in hand, and used a Point Me spell to find the Resurrection Stone. Once he'd retrieved it, he walked to Hogsmeade and Apparated straight to London, then hid the wand and the stone in a box at 12 Grimmauld Place. Before hiding the box behind a stack of books in the Black library, he warded it with every protection spell and enchantment he could think of then spelled it so it could only be opened with a command in Parseltongue.

And _that_ was yet another secret. He was still a Parselmouth. Apparently not all of Dumbledore's theories were correct. Perhaps it was a natural gift and Harry had been born with the ability to speak the language of serpents, or if he did indeed gain the ability to speak it because he had been Voldemort's horcrux, maybe it was a language that once learned, couldn't be forgotten. In any case, it wasn't something Harry planned on telling anyone - not even Ron, Hermione or Ginny. He just wanted to be normal for a change...or at least pretend to be. Besides, there was a far bigger issue to take into account. Now that Dumbledore and Voldemort were both dead, the Wizarding World would likely consider Harry to be the most powerful wizard in Britain, if not the world. Whether it was a deserved assumption or not, it was what people were going to think, and he knew it. He would have to be very careful about the public's perception of him, more than he ever had before.

He knew all too well that public opinion changed fast and swung from one extreme to the other - particularly when it came to him. Harry might be The Hero again right now, but he knew it was just a matter of time before people would begin focusing less on the fact that he defeated Voldemort and more on their belief that he was the most powerful wizard alive, and therefore, one to be feared. When things settled down, he was sure it wouldn't be long before the public started watching him with mistrust and suspicion, looking for any sign that he might be the next Dark Lord in the making. Being a known Parselmouth would only cause trouble for him. So Harry lied, and told his friends that he lost the ability to speak Parseltongue when Voldemort cast the killing curse on him and destroyed the soul fragment that gave him the aptitude in the first place.

After hiding the box with the two Hallows, Harry had remained at Grimmauld Place that night. He didn't want to go back to Hogwarts, back to all the death and ruin, and the unwanted praise and attention, and the expectations and endless questions people wanted answers to. Instead, he let his friends know where he was via a firecall to the Gryffindor Common Room and then called for Kreacher to come home.

He'd had a long talk with the house-elf after the Battle, and had been very grateful to learn that, despite the Fidelius Charm falling, the house had remained completely intact in his absence. When asked what happened with Yaxley, Kreacher explained that the inherent ancestral magic of the Black House got invoked the moment the Fidelius Charm fell, and it forced the Death Eater out immediately and Obliviated him of the memory of its location.

"So...we could have stayed there all along? All this time?" Harry had asked incredulously.

Kreacher nodded. "After Master Harry didn't come back, Kreacher went to Hogwarts but Kreacher checked on the house every day and used elf magic to keep it safe."

Harry thanked him sincerely and said, "I realised during all that time on the run - somehow I'd come to think of Grimmauld Place as my home, and not just the house that Sirius left me. I really missed it while I was gone."

It was true - he had. And now that he was back home, he wasn't leaving. Kreacher came as soon as he was called, and he and Harry spent the rest of that evening cleaning up the two bedrooms on the fourth floor. After seeing Sirius again, the pain of losing him had hit Harry all over again, and he couldn't bear the thought of staying in his godfather's old room so he decided to take Regulus' bedroom as his own, a move which seemed to make Kreacher happy. Despite the very Slytherin colour scheme, it was actually a rather nice room, probably the nicest in the whole house, so Harry didn't mind too much.

Hermione showed up the next morning, looking pale and drawn, and when Harry told her he wasn't planning to return to Hogwarts, she asked if she could stay with him for a day or two. Though she and Harry were considered honourary members of the Weasley clan, neither felt comfortable with the idea of intruding on the privacy of the grieving family who had gone home to mourn the devastating loss of Fred. Guilt had started to take a firm hold of Harry by that point and he wasn't sure he could bear to face anyone, especially the Weasleys. After all, he reasoned, wasn't it his fault that Fred died in the first place? When he talked to Hermione about it she was quick to tell him that he was wrong - it was Voldemort's fault, plain and simple.

Harry responded by whispering the words that Voldemort had spoken, the words that would be forever imprinted on his soul: "_You have permitted your friends to die for you rather than face me yourself_."

Hermione shook her head frantically, just like she'd done when the Dark Lord had said it the first time. "No, Harry. Death is an inevitable part of war," she insisted. "You have to understand that you can't save_ everyone_. It's not possible. You couldn't have saved Fred...or any of them. And it wasn't up to you, don't you see? They all chose to fight and they knew what they were getting themselves into. We all did. It was their choice. Don't take that away from them. To blame yourself is to dishonour their bravery and their sacrifice."

He'd nodded, not wanting to argue. Intellectually, he understood her reasoning and even agreed. He truly did. But emotionally, he couldn't help but feel like he had failed. Yes, he'd defeated Voldemort in the end, but the cost was so unbearably high. He didn't know if he would ever be able to forgive himself.

Ron and Ginny flooed over a few hours after that conversation. The moment Harry saw them, whatever control he'd had up until then shattered. Hermione must have seen the pain and guilt swimming in his eyes as he tried to avoid looking at them; she immediately stepped in, quietly explaining that Harry needed time to process everything that had happened and that he would be staying at Grimmauld Place to recover.

"He _died_," she reminded them, her voice grim. "What he needs most is to recuperate in a quiet place away from everyone. The last thing he needs is to be at Hogwarts right now. They don't understand what he went through. Everyone will bombard him with questions that he isn't ready to answer. They'll expect too much from him and you know how he is when it comes to that. He'll wear himself out trying to be what they want him to be."

Both Ron and Ginny tried to approach Harry then, but all he could do was shake his head and cover his face with his hands, unable to speak or even look at them. Distantly, he could hear Hermione whispering words like "survivor's guilt" and "post traumatic stress" but he barely registered what she was saying. At that moment, he felt like the worst kind of coward. He desperately wanted to talk to Ron and Ginny but found that he _couldn't_. Immobilised by the torrent of emotions that had taken possession of him, he could only sit there, frozen, as Hermione went on: "I think it's all just caught up with him now. Considering what he's been through, I'm sure he must be suffering from the after-effects of physical, emotional and magical shock. We have to protect him. He'll be okay but he needs a bit of time to get over this..." The whispers grew quieter then he heard her say, "No, you two should be with your family. Your mum and dad need you. _George_ needs you. I'll stay here and look after him."

Harry felt a steady hand on his shoulder a moment later. "Mate," Ron said softly. "I understand. You take all the time you need and don't you dare for one second blame yourself for anything. Fred..." Ron's voice broke suddenly but then he cleared his throat and continued, "Fred would never forgive you if he knew you were blaming yourself." Ginny was next. "Harry?" she whispered. He tried to look at her but couldn't. "Don't worry about anything right now," she said. Harry wanted to wince at her overly bright tone. He had lost a friend, but they had lost their beloved brother. Neither should have to burden themselves with trying to comfort _him_. "You just take care of yourself, alright?" He managed to nod in response. Then Hermione led them away.

For the next week, Hermione had stayed with him, helping him get through those first few terrible days, skillfully keeping at bay friends and strangers alike. When the surviving Order members asked to see him, she held them off by telling them he was recovering from a curse inflicted during the Final Battle and that he was in the care of a private Healer who was helping him convalesce and had issued the strict decree that he was not to be disturbed under any circumstances. Those who wished to congratulate Harry or request his support or assistance for one thing or another were told the same story and then informed that they would have to wait to see him or speak with him until his health was fully restored.

Hermione made it her mission to take care of all the practical matters that most needed to be addressed: first, a public statement of hope and reassurance from Harry to the Wizarding World and second, two interviews, for The Quibbler and The Daily Prophet, which she arranged with her usual efficiency. After being forced to step up and lead the charge for so long, now that the war was over, Harry was content to let Hermione take the reins. She sat in on both interviews, carefully monitoring the questions and answers. She and Harry had prepared for it thoroughly. Knowing that the true story could never be revealed, they had worked together to come up with an accounting of Harry's part in the war that was both believable and appeasing to the masses. During Harry's final confrontation with Voldemort, he'd said the word "Horcruxes" in front of everyone present, but thankfully Hermione had somehow had the presence of mind to cast a Muffliato charm around Harry and Voldemort when they started speaking, so no one had actually heard what had been said between them. In the interviews, Harry made an official statement when asked about it, saying that while he would not reveal the details about that last conversation, he could confirm that it left no doubt that Voldemort was defeated once and for all.

Those first few days were the hardest but Harry slowly started to come to terms with all that happened. Ever the survivor, it wasn't long before he steeled himself to push forward and shift his focus to doing what was necessary to put himself back together. Although, that was a task easier said than done. He would never admit it to anyone, but a big part of him felt curiously empty, and he found himself wondering if that emptiness had sprung from the void the now-destroyed soul piece once occupied. He couldn't help but remember what Hermione said about him and Voldemort that one time, when he'd kept their link open and watched Voldemort question then murder that woman during his search for Gregorovitch. "_I don't get it, Harry - do you _like_ having this special connection or relationship or what - whatever _- " It echoed in his head every time he felt the strange pang of emptiness inside him, and every time, he would shove the thought away, not wanting to think about it.

At the start of the second week, Harry finally convinced Hermione that he was okay, thanks to all her help, and at his insistance she went to the Burrow. Harry remained at Grimmauld Place with Kreacher. He attended all of the funerals, which had been heartbreaking and nearly unbearable, and made a few necessary public appearances. He also made sure that Narcissa Malfoy and Draco were cleared of all charges. It took some convincing but when Harry explained that Narcissa had saved him during the Final Battle and that Draco had been forced to serve Voldemort but had, in his own way, saved Harry on two separate occasions, the Wizengamot listened. The trials hadn't begun yet so no one knew what would become of Lucius, but mother and son received a full pardon.

Other than attending the funerals and making those few public appearances and clearing Narcissa and Draco, Harry spent the rest of his time at home. He wanted to be alone - he had a lot to think about and many decisions to make regarding his future. He talked to Kreacher a lot, about his plans to renovate the house, and about the possibility of inviting Andromeda and his now-godson, Teddy, to live there once the house was fixed up. He also occasionally spoke to Phineas Nigellus, whose portrait had been returned by Hermione and now hung in the Black drawing room. After seeing Snape's memories, Harry now understood that Phineas had actually been instrumental in helping him during the war, that all those times Harry and Hermione would take out his portait and blindfold him then chat with him, he'd had been reporting to Snape and Dumbledore. The first time Harry tried to thank him, Phineas gave him an odd look then smiled. "You like this house, don't you?" he asked unexpectedly. Harry blinked at him then nodded. "The Black House," Phineas emphasised, his eyes gleaming. "You see the Black family tapestry there," he said, pointing at it. "On that tapestry, we are called The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black - _noble_, Mr Potter. Nobility comes in many forms." And with that, he smiled again then walked out of the frame, presumably going back to his portrait at Hogwarts.

Kingsley Shacklebolt had been formally named the official Minister of Magic and was working tirelessly to handle the aftermath, embracing the challenge of bringing order to the chaos the war had wrought with admirable aplomb and proficiency. Harry was only too happy to let the man take care of everything. He was too tired and drained to even attempt to make sense of the shambles that was Wizarding Britain. He trusted Kingsley and knew that there was no better person for the job, though he made a special point of telling Kingsley that he had Harry's full support and that he could count on him to help with anything that might assist the Minister in his endeavours.

Voldemort was dead, the war was over, and Wizarding Britain was in good hands with Kingsley at the helm. Everything was starting to come together and it looked like things were going to be alright.

And then, exactly a fortnight after the Final Battle, Harry received the mysterious Gringotts letter. The moment he signed his name and bound himself to the magical contract, a feeling of foreboding crept over him and he wondered if he'd made a grave mistake. But it was too late to change his mind; he would simply have to go and see for himself who was behind the strange summons.

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><p>The next day was the reading of the will. Harry arrived at Gringotts quite early, having a few matters to take care of first. He was a bit worried initially about how his presence would be received due to the trio's successful break-in and subsequent escape from the Wizarding Bank roughly two weeks prior, but none of the goblins said anything about it to him; instead, he was met with an odd sort of indifference, although he did glimpse a few scowls and looks of reluctant admiration on some of the goblins' faces. Harry immediately payed a visit to his trust vault, where he deposited the box containing the two Hallows, then he asked to speak to the goblin in charge of the Potter account. Minutes later, he was introduced to Morbek, the manager of the Potter estate. The goblin led Harry to a private room and once they were alone, Harry got straight to the point.<p>

"I was wondering if my parents left a copy of their will here at Gringotts," he began, and when the goblin nodded in the affirmative, he gave a nod in return and continued. "I am of age now, and have been for almost a year, but this is my first opportunity to meet with you to discuss my inheritance. I wanted to talk about my trust vault...and any other vaults I might have inherited now that I'm legally an adult."

Morbek laughed. "Oh yes, there are other vaults indeed, Mr. Potter," he said with an amused grin. "And we will go over all the particulars, rest assured. However, you might want to call for Argrod, the manager of the Black estate. I would suggest that you ask that he join us after we discuss the more private details of your holdings as the Potter Heir."

An hour later, Harry left the room, his mind reeling. He'd had to conclude the meeting with Morbek and Argrod because the time had come for his appointment to attend the reading of the mysterious will, but as he followed the goblin who had summoned him and was presently escorting him to the place where the will was to be read, all Harry could think about was what he had just learned. His whole world had been thrown off-kilter, with one staggering revelation that had shocked him to the core, and everything that he thought he knew was now suddenly in question. It was making his head spin.

As the Potter Heir, he had inherited far more than he could ever have imagined. But the information he'd discovered when discussing his status as the Black Heir was what had him so thoroughly shaken. He had been caught completely off guard when he was told the startling facts about his paternal grandparents. Apparently, his grandfather, Charlus Potter, had married Dorea _Black_, who was the aunt of Sirius' mother, Walburga - that horrible, bigoted screaming she-devil whose portrait he had to live with! Harry was actually related to her! James Potter had been Walburga's first cousin. He could scarcely believe it.

Harry had been stunned to discover that he'd had family in the Wizarding World all along, and worse, that no one had thought to tell him. Why? Why hadn't Sirius told him that he wasn't merely Harry's godfather, but in fact his actual family? Why had _no one_ ever told him he was blood-related to Sirius, _or_ that he was blood-related to an equal degree to Narcissa Malfoy, Bellatrix Lestrange and Andromeda Tonks? That meant he was also blood-related to Nymphadora Tonks and to his godson Teddy. It also meant that he and Draco Malfoy were cousins, a few times removed. Was all of it a secret or did no one remember to tell him? It didn't make sense. Then again, when Harry thought about it, if he had known he was related to some of those people, he probably would have sought to live with them instead of the Dursleys. He might have gone to Andromeda, for example.

But Dumbledore wouldn't have allowed that, he thought angrily. Albus Dumbledore had needed Harry to be exactly what _he_ wanted him to be; thus, allowing him be raised in the Wizarding World would have been out of the question. During the meeting with Argrod, Harry learned that he and Draco had been equally entitled to claim the position as true Heir to the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black because they were the last two living male blood descendents of Cygnus and Violetta Black, but when Sirius' will named Harry as his heir, it had all become his, not just by magic, as Harry had previously thought, but also by blood and birthright.

He had no more time to think on it, for he suddenly found himself standing in front of a door. The goblin opened it and gestured for him to go in. Harry peeked inside and saw that the room was empty for the most part, save for a table and two chairs. The goblin ushered him inside, and after telling Harry to sit down and wait, gave a small bow then left, closing the door behind him. Moments later, the door opened again, and a stern-faced goblin with a rather forbidding demeanour entered.

"Mr Potter," he said with a curt nod, taking the other seat. "I am Ulbrok, the executor of your benefactor's estate. You are here for the reading of the last will and testament of someone who took many precautions regarding the inheritance bequeathed to you. One of those precautions was put into place to ensure your acceptance of said inheritance," he said with a nasty smile. "To summarise, you will find you have no choice but to agree to the terms your benefactor insisted upon."

Harry stared at him in surprise. "What exactly do you mean by that?" he asked suspiciously. "Who _is_ this benefactor?"

"All in good time," Ulbrok replied with a dismissive wave of his hand. "The first order of business is to take you to the vault. There is something you must see there which shall explain everything." The goblin stood. "Please, follow me," he said, more as a command than a request.

Harry got to his feet. "This is highly irregular, I'm sure," he said, frowning.

"Irregular...yes," Ulbrok grinned. "But you must be used to such things, Mr Potter. You are, after all, The Boy Who Lived...and now, The One Who Defeated He Who Must Not Be Named."

"Voldemort," Harry corrected. There was no taboo on the name anymore and he refused to refer to the dead Dark Lord as anything other than Voldemort.

"Hmmm," the goblin murmured, his expression turning slightly sinister. "Very bold. We'll see how brave you are when you hear the terms of your bequeathment." He smiled wickedly. "Now, come along, Mr. Potter. It's time to see what you have inherited."

Harry followed, growing more nervous with each step. When they entered the hallway that led to the vaults, Ulbrok immediately called for a cart. Within seconds, it arrived and they climbed aboard, then the cart lurched forward and began whizzing along full throttle, until it reached vault eight hundred and fifty three.

"Here we are," Ulbrok said, giving Harry a strange look. The goblin stared at him for a moment then turned and stroked the door with his long, gnarled fingers until it vanished and the entrance to the vault appeared. "Go on," the goblin urged, his eyes shining with what appeared to be anticipation. "You may go in now."

"I'm not just going in there," Harry protested, balking at the idea of entering an unknown vault, especially under the circumstances, which were creepy at best and potentially deadly at worst. "This could be a trap. Who knows what's in here!"

"Ah! No need to worry, Mr Potter. The moment you signed that letter, you became heir to this vault, and as such, nothing in it can harm you," Ulbrok asserted. At Harry's doubtful look, he gave a nod of understanding then raised a hand and intoned, "I hereby swear on my magic that Harry Potter is safe from harm by anything inside the vault. So mote it be."

Harry hesitated but finally decided it was best to just get it over with. He went inside and after giving his eyes a few seconds to adjust, tried to make out the vault's contents. He had little time to get a good look, for suddenly a cold, high-pitched voice said, "Ah! Harry Potter. You're here at last!"


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary: **After the war, Harry discovers that Voldemort dabbled in more than Horcruxes. Slash. HP/TR. Post Deathly Hallows.

**Genre: **Drama/Romance

**Pairing: **Harry Potter and Tom Riddle

**Warning: **This is a story that features a slash pairing, meaning a homosexual romantic relationship between two men. Flames are a waste of my time and yours. If you don't like slash or the pairing of Harry Potter with Tom Riddle, don't read any further.

**Disclaimer: **I do not own any characters or locations from J.K. Rowling's Harry Potter series. All rights go to her.

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><p><strong>Author's Note: <strong>Thanks for all the reviews and story alerts! Just to be clear, Harry hid the box with the Elder Wand and the Resurrection Stone at Grimmauld Place only as a temporary measure. He knew the safest place to hide it would be at Gringotts so he deposited the box in the Potter trust vault as soon as he had the opportunity.

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><p><strong>The Portrait<strong>

**Chapter Two**

_"Here we are," Ulbrok said, giving Harry a strange look. The goblin stared at him for a moment then turned and stroked the door with his long, gnarled fingers until it vanished and the entrance to the vault appeared. "Go on," the goblin urged, his eyes shining with what appeared to be anticipation. "You may go in now."_

_"I'm not just going in there," Harry protested, balking at the idea of entering an unknown vault, especially under the circumstances, which were creepy at best. "This could be a trap. Who knows what's in here!"_

_"Ah! No need to worry, Mr Potter. The moment you signed that letter, you became heir to this vault, and as such, nothing in it can harm you," Ulbrok asserted. At Harry's doubtful look, he gave a nod of understanding then raised a hand and intoned, "I hereby swear on my magic that Harry Potter is safe from harm by anything inside the vault. So mote it be."_

_Harry hesitated but finally decided it was best to just get it over with. He went inside and after giving his eyes a few seconds to adjust, tried to make out the vault's contents. He had little time to get a good look, for suddenly a cold, high-pitched voice said, "Harry Potter. You're here at last!"_

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><p>Harry spun around, eyes wide, and could only stare in horror at the sight before him. Leaning against the wall was a life-sized portrait of Tom Riddle, who was staring back at him with an inscrutable expression.<p>

"You!" Harry cried. "What the hell? _You're_ my benefactor?"

"Don't talk to me, Potter," Tom said coolly. "Talk to _him_." He pointed to a mirror in the portrait, which Harry hadn't had time to notice yet. And that's when Harry saw it. Standing in the mirror, smiling at him with malevolent glee, was Voldemort.

"No!" Harry whispered. "It's not possible. You wouldn't!" he yelled at the rather solid-looking reflection of the wizard he'd defeated. "You _couldn't_!"

"Oh, but I could. And I did," Voldemort replied, rubbing his hands together in malicious delight. "You didn't think I would have relied solely on my Horcruxes, did you?" he asked triumphantly.

Harry looked at Tom, who was eyeing both of them with distaste. "What did you do?" he asked Tom.

Tom rolled his eyes. "Isn't it obvious, Potter?" he sneered.

"Keep silent, boy!" Voldemort ordered sharply, crimson eyes glowing. "_I'm_ the one who will speak to Potter, not you!"

An expression of pure loathing crossed over Tom's face as he looked into the mirror and gave a mocking bow. "As you wish," he said coldly.

"Don't you dare sass me, Riddle!" Voldemort snapped. "I kept you because you were of use to me but I'm certain I can find a way to get rid of you if you don't mind your attitude!"

"Tom doesn't seem very happy with you," Harry remarked casually to the reflection in the mirror, knowing that his words and the breezy tone in which he'd delivered them would infuriate Voldemort to no end.

"Shut up!" they both yelled simultaneously.

Harry couldn't help but laugh. "Oh, this is rich," Harry crowed. "You're stuck together in this portrait...forever! And you both _hate_ it! Poor Tom...it must be awful to see what you became. And you, Voldemort, you must absolutely hate seeing your younger, more human self," he grinned. "Tom is very handsome, after all, while you're nothing but a repulsive snake-faced monster!"

Tom's only response was to glower balefully at Harry, but Voldemort looked utterly enraged. "Laugh it up while you can, Potter!" he hissed. "Because you will find that you too are stuck with the both of us, and I can assure you, you won't find it a very pleasant experience."

"I don't think so, Voldemort," Harry replied. He turned to Ulbrok. "I refuse to accept this..._inheritance_," he told the goblin firmly. "So, shut the vault and let's be on our way."

"Now, now! Not so fast, Potter," Voldemort cackled. "Do you think you can just walk away from this?"

"Yes, I do," Harry informed him calmly, then turned back to the goblin. "Let's go," he said. "I've had enough of this travesty."

"I think you'll want to hear the terms of your inheritance, Mr. Potter," Ulbrok countered. "As I told you before, you will find that certain precautions were made to ensure that you accept what you have been bequeathed."

Voldemort laughed. "Indeed. You have no choice, Potter. I've seen to that!"

Harry spun around and glared at the reflection in the portrait's mirror. "Why don't you explain it to me, then," he snapped. "I assume you've come up with some mad plan to blackmail me?"

"You are quite correct," Voldemort said in a condescending tone. "Though I wouldn't call it mad; I'd say it's rather brilliant, actually."

"Christ!" Harry muttered, rolling his eyes. "Still as egotistical as ever. Fine. What is this brilliant plan of yours?"

"It's simple really," Voldemort began. "You accept my terms, as laid out in my will, or before the day is out, the entire Wizarding World will learn that you are Lord Voldemort's Heir. They will also be informed that you knew about it and killed me to get me out of the way so you could take over as the new Dark Lord. A rather wonderful legacy, don't you think?"

Harry stared at him, aghast. "You're fucking sick!" he cried. "There's no way people would believe that of me!"

"Really?" Voldemort's tone suggested otherwise.

Harry bristled, and opened his mouth to argue but then suddenly his shoulders sagged in silent defeat. Voldemort was right. Of course the public would believe it. "I didn't even kill you, not properly," Harry whispered. "_You_ killed _me_ but I came back to life, and when you tried to kill me again, the curse backfired."

"You just won't die, eh, Potter? How annoying of you. But no matter. I plan to make your life a living hell. Do go on. I haven't heard all the details of our duel. It's quite fascinating."

"I cast Expelliarmus at the same time that you cast the second Avada Kedavra. You were wrong about who the Elder Wand recognised as its Master. It wasn't you or Snape. It was Draco Malfoy, until I disarmed him and won the wand's allegiance."

"Ah. I see. So I presume I used the Elder Wand to curse you but it refused to turn on its true Master?" Voldemort asked in a clinical tone. "And obviously you destroyed all my Horcruxes or I wouldn't be _here_. How...unexpected of you. Perhaps you're smarter than I'd given you credit for. Ever since I woke up in this portrait, I have wondered how you managed to defeat me."

"It's all he's talked about," Tom said under his breath, though it was loud enough to still be heard.

"I thought I told you to shut up!" Voldemort bellowed furiously.

"You shut up!" Tom snapped. "I'm sick of hearing you talk!"

Harry snickered.

"So help me, boy, I _will_ find a way to remove you from this portrait!"

"By all means, please do," Tom said icily. "Anything is better than being stuck here with you."

"How dare you insult Lord Voldemort! You are nothing! A child. A pitiful orphan with more ambition than power or knowledge. _I_ am the one who became the Dark Lord! _You_ are a disgrace and an embarrassment. Even Potter is more worthy to speak to me," Voldemort spat. "I will not tolerate any more of your insolence!"

"You're pathetic," Tom sniped, turning his back to the mirror.

"Wow!" Harry interjected. He looked at Tom and shook his head. "I actually feel sorry for you, Tom. Really."

"I didn't ask for your opinion, Potter," he said through clenched teeth.

Harry plowed on. "How old are you anyway? You don't look much older than the Tom from the Diary Horcrux."

"Silence, both of you!" Voldemort thundered. "_I_ shall do the talking here."

"I met the 'Diary you' in my second year," Harry continued, ignoring Voldemort completely. "I have to admit, you had me fooled at first. I thought you were a friend when I wrote to you in the diary and you pretended to help me, when I asked you about the Chamber of Secrets being opened in your time. Then I met you in the Chamber and found you draining the life out of my...friend - "

"Ah yes! I remember hearing of this," Voldemort said venomously. "It was Ginerva Weasley...isn't that right, Potter? Friend, you say? I thought she was your _girlfriend_," he sneered.

"Not presently," Harry muttered.

"Oh! Finally over your 'mummy issues', are you?" Voldemort laughed.

"What the fuck are you talking about?" Harry exclaimed.

"Please! Ginerva Weasley - red hair, fiery temper, a Gryffindor? Hadn't you noticed? She's just like your mother!"

"Don't you _dare_ talk about my mother!" Harry shouted. "Or Ginny!" he added a moment later.

"Hit a nerve, did I?"

"Shut up!"

For a few seconds, silence actually reigned.

"What happened in the Chamber?" Tom asked suddenly. "After you met the soul fragment from the diary Horcrux?"

"You set the basilisk on me and I killed it then stabbed the diary with one of its fangs." Harry cast a spiteful look at Voldemort and said, "And that was the end of _that_ Horcrux."

"Enough chit-chat!" Voldemort said coldly. "Let us discuss the business at hand, shall we? Potter, you are now my Heir and as such, you have inherited my entire estate: my fortune, my properties, all my magical artifacts, books and possessions...everything. You will accept this bequeathment or suffer the consequences. I've already explained the first stage of what would happen if you defy me, but believe me, there is more if that isn't enough to sway you. But really, there's no need to dwell on such matters. You will accept gracefully, so let us proceed to the next step."

"Hang on! Which one of you am I inheriting everything from? Legally, am I the heir of Voldemort or Tom Riddle?" Harry asked.

"Both," Voldemort answered. "But the actual estate is under the name Tom Marvolo Riddle," he conceded. He glared at his younger self as if daring him to speak. Tom glared back at him but said nothing. "Now, on to the next order of business. You are to carry out the first and most important stipulation of my will, effective immediately."

"And what is that?" Harry asked.

"You will sign the papers that Ulbrok has prepared, accepting my terms and ensuring the secrecy of your status as my Heir, then you will shrink this portrait and take it home with you. You will then be required to unshrink the portrait and hang it in a room that you frequent daily."

"What?" Harry cried. "There's no way I'm going to do that! A few of my friends know exactly who Tom Riddle is and what he looks like, and _everyone_ knows who _you_ are! Do you think I'm stupid? This is obviously a trap!"

"Calm down, you stupid boy. I have enchanted the portrait to only show myself and Tom to you...and Ulbrok, of course. Everyone else will see a perfectly common pastoral scene of a Wizarding village in the Cotswolds."

Harry stared at Voldemort and then turned to Ulbrok. "Is that true? What protections do I have? What assurances can you give me that this isn't a trap?"

The goblin smiled. "Very good, Mr. Potter. You know how to ask the right questions. The paperwork I have prepared for you will ensure that all parties are protected. Once you sign them, you will all be bound to a magical contract that will keep everything confidential. Your benefactor has already signed them, for his part."

"That doesn't even make sense. They're dead. How does a magical contract even apply to them?"

"Oh dear," Voldemort said with a cruel smirk. "It appears that you don't understand. We're not dead exactly. I'm dead enough that it registered legally, enough to activate my last will and testament. I'm dead enough that I'm here, in this portrait. But I'm not dead. Not altogether. Did you think this was just an ordinary magical portrait? No, boy! My magic is still alive."

Harry gaped at him. "What do you mean?"

Tom sighed. "Really, Potter, how thick _are_ you?"

"Excuse me for being a little confused! This is hardly a normal situation!" Harry said hotly.

"What...Voldemort...is trying to tell you is that neither he or I are entirely dead; our magic is still alive, preserved in this portrait," Tom explained with an annoyed look. "As you may or may not know, I made my first two Horcruxes while still attending Hogwarts. After I graduated, I spent the majority of my time learning everything I could about other ways to safeguard my immortality. I learned of some other magics. I had this portrait painted, and when it was finished, I added more enchantments to it using the new magic I discovered."

"Yes, how kind of you to explain, Tom," Voldemort sneered. "Allow me to elucidate further. Tom then put the portrait in this vault. After I was resurrected, before I made Nagini a Horcrux, I retrieved the portrait and performed a ritual using an even more advanced kind of magic on it. Then, when I discovered you'd started destroying my Horcruxes, I returned to the vault and cast the final spells on the portrait, thus ensuring that my immortality was still secure."

"So it's like a Horcrux?" Harry asked in horrified whisper. "You can still come back?"

"Indeed I can. But you needn't worry about that at the moment. Only _you_ have the power to resurrect me, and somehow I don't imagine I'd have much success convincing you to do so any time soon."

"What about Tom? Can he be resurrected too?"

"Yes," Tom answered softly.

"No!" Voldemort hissed. "Don't listen to him, Potter. He knows less than he thinks he does."

"Shut up!" Tom growled. "You're lying and you know it. Of course I can be resurrected, Potter. We both can. It's one or the other though - me or him."

"How about neither?" Harry yelled. "You're both mad! Do either of you honestly think I'm actually going to resurrect you?"

"We can talk about this later," Voldemort said. "Sign the papers so we can get out of this filthy vault. It's worse than a tomb in here and I'm tired of it!"

Harry looked at Ulbrok. "Do you have the papers? I'm not saying I'm going to sign them but I'll have a look at them if you have them on hand."

The goblin reached inside his robes and pulled out a rolled parchment then gave it to Harry.

"Swear on your magic that this isn't a trap," Harry ordered. "Swear that there aren't any hidden clauses or conditions that will bind me to doing anything against my free will, besides accepting the inheritance and keeping the portrait with me. Swear that my accepting the inheritance and the portrait is all I need to do to keep this all a secret."

Ulbrok raised his hand and recited the vow, using Harry's exact words, and when Harry saw the spark of magic confirming that the vow was in effect, he opened the parchment and read through it.

"Alright, I'll sign," he said wearily. "I've had enough of this and I want to go home."

Ulbrok handed him a self-inking quill.

Harry signed.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary:** After the war, Harry discovers that Voldemort dabbled in more than Horcruxes. Slash. HP/TR. Post Deathly Hallows.

**Genre:** Drama/Romance

**Pairing: **Harry Potter and Tom Riddle

**Warning:** This is a story that features a slash pairing, meaning a homosexual romantic relationship between two men. Flames are a waste of my time and yours. If you don't like slash or the pairing of Harry Potter with Tom Riddle, don't read any further.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any characters or locations from J.K. Rowling's Harry Potter series. All rights go to her.

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><p><strong>Author's Note: <strong>I should probably tell you before this story goes any further that although I'm following book canon, visually, the Tom Riddle I am writing is the one from The Chamber of Secrets film. That means, as I write this, I am picturing Christian Coulson, not Frank Dillane (the Tom from the HBP film). I have nothing against Frank Dillane, but physically, Christian Coulson fits what I imagined Tom to look like - tall, dark, handsome, aristocratic, intellectual.

As mentioned previously, in my research for this story, I have been re-reading all the books, and I've been noticing a number of interesting things which are being woven into my story in order to be addressed. When it comes to the HP _films_, I noticed there is a huge discrepancy in the way Tom was portrayed and characterised in The Chamber of Secrets vs. the Tom we saw in The Half Blood Prince. Even though Tom was 16 years old in both the COS and the HBP, we see in the COS a Tom that was more insecure and full of bravado. He showed more emotion; he was still cold and cruel but there was a heat to his temper and a passion in him that we didn't see in the boy from the 6th film. You could tell that the COS Tom was a teenager - a very brilliant, prodigious, messed up, psychologically disturbed, damaged teenager, who had grown up in a "survival of the fittest" environment, and who had delusions of grandeur coupled with an insatiable desire for power. He was "evil" (to put it in the simplest terms) but still human. In The Half Blood Prince film, his character was portrayed as something else. He was portrayed as more of a true psychopath/sociopath, and didn't seem to be as much influenced by his upbringing as he was by his innate nature. To me, that's what it boils down to: Nature vs. Nurture. In my opinion, the Tom from the COS was turned into the monster he became. The HBP Tom was born that way - according to Dumbledore's theories (in the book version), and according to Frank Dillane's portrayal of him in the film. Discrepancies in characterisation aside, the question of Tom being a product of Nature vs. Nurture has already been answered by JKR herself in an interview - she said that had Merope lived and raised Tom, he would have turned out to be very different, and a much better person. I personally see Tom as being a product of both Nature _and_ Nurture, with the Nurture aspect being the dominant influence.

Thanks again for all the reviews, favourites and author/story alerts! I welcome your feedback and would love to hear what you like about the story and what you might enjoy seeing in the future.

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><p><strong>The Portrait<strong>

**Chapter Three**

Sitting on his bed at Grimmauld Place, Harry stared at the newly hung portrait. "This is weird," he finally declared. "I don't know if the bedroom was such a good idea. How am I supposed to sleep with the two of you just standing there watching me? It's weird," he repeated. "It's creepy."

"Oh, do stop whinging, Potter," Voldemort said distractedly as he gazed out from his mirror and took in his new surroundings. "Slytherin colours," he noted approvingly, a contented look on his face.

"Is that all you think about? How Slytherin or un-Slytherin everything is? That's pretty pathetic," Harry scowled. "Anyway, as I was saying, how am I supposed to get any sleep in here with you two gawking at me?"

"Lord Voldemort does not 'gawk', Potter."

"For fuck's sake! Will you stop referring to yourself in third person? It's really annoying."

Tom smirked. "You don't have to worry about me, Potter. _I_ can move about the house through the other portraits," he said, casting a smug look at Voldemort. "I'll just occupy myself elsewhere when you're sleeping."

"You mean, the other portraits will be able to see you?" Harry asked in alarm.

"If I visit them, they can," Tom replied. "Though no one can enter _this_ portrait. There are too many enchantments on it for that."

"But a lot of the portraits here know who you are - as Tom Riddle. Some of them knew you personally. You can't just roam about and risk anyone seeing you! Phineas Nigellus has a portrait here, and one at Hogwarts as well. If he saw you, he'd tell Dumbledore and McGonagall, then everyone will find out about this."

"Fine. I'll be very careful and avoid his portrait. Surely there are others I can visit."

"I don't know. I don't really understand much about magical portraits. There must be a book here about them. I'll have to find it," he said absently. "Anyway, there's also Walburga. Wasn't she at Hogwarts when you were there?"

"Ah, yes, Walburga. You are correct," Tom said. "She was a year above me at Hogwarts. A rather unpleasant girl, who obviously didn't improve with age. She turned out to be quite the harpy, didn't she?"

"She's a right bitch," Harry muttered. "And I just found out today that I'm related to her. She was my father's first cousin."

"Oh?" Voldemort said suddenly, his crimson eyes alight with interest. "Is that so? How... intriguing."

"You didn't know that? I guess it's not surprising. _I_ didn't even know. No one ever told me, not even Sirius. Was it a big secret or something?"

Voldemort started laughing.

"What?" Harry snapped, annoyed. "What's so funny?"

"I just realised. That means you're related to Bellatrix!" Voldemort grinned.

"Correction. I _was_ related to her. She's dead," Harry said flatly.

"Is she? My dear Bella. No doubt, she died bravely in battle serving her Lord."

"Will you knock it off with that crap?" Harry groaned. "It's ridiculous. Seriously. A self-proclaimed Lord isn't really a Lord, you know. It's just _stupid_. Hey! Maybe I should start calling myself King Harry then." He smiled suddenly. "Voldemort," he intoned dramatically, putting on a regal air. "I am King Harry, and I command that you bow to me. From this day forward, you shall address me as Your Majesty!"

Tom chuckled.

"Don't be absurd, Potter," Voldemort sniffed.

"I have to admit, it does seem rather silly hearing it put like that," Tom said. "I don't know what I was thinking." He looked at Voldemort, who was scowling now. "I can't believe _you_ went on with it. It's so embarrassingly puerile!"

Harry laughed at the affronted look on Voldemort's face.

"Shut up, both of you!" Voldemort hissed.

"Really! That's no way to speak to your King," Harry said with a wicked grin. He pointed his wand at one of the pillows and transfigured it into a crown which he put on his head, then after a moment's thought, he transfigured a quill from his bedside table into a sceptor. "You!" he said, waving the sceptor at Voldemort. "You will show me the proper respect, you miserable creature! All hail King Harry!" he cried.

Tom's lips quirked up in amusement and Harry smiled at him. The smile left his face abruptly when Kreacher suddenly popped into the room.

"Master!" Kreacher said. "Were you wanting something? Kreacher heard you call."

"Oh! Er...no..." Harry mumbled, his face turning red. "I was just messing around."

Tom and Voldemort started laughing as Harry hastened to remove the crown from his head then stuffed it behind him. "Um...Kreacher...what do you think of that painting?" he asked, gesturing to the portrait.

The house-elf glanced at it then gave him an odd look. "It is a nice picture, Master," he said.

"And what is it that you see exactly?"

"It's a picture of fields with a forest in the distance," Kreacher replied with a frown. "Is Master Harry ill?"

"No, I'm fine. I just...wondered if you thought it looked nice in here."

"Pathetic, Potter," Voldemort sneered.

"Did you just hear that?" Harry asked the house-elf.

"Hear what?" Kreacher asked, furrowing his brow.

"Er...nothing. My stomach just grumbled. I guess I'm hungry," he finished lamely.

Voldemort laughed.

"Kreacher can make Master something to eat."

Harry nodded, realising he actually was a bit peckish. "That sounds good. I'd love a sandwich. Thank you."

The house-elf was about to go when Harry suddenly remembered something. "Wait! Kreacher, did you know that my father was the cousin of your former Mistress?"

"Kreacher's former Mistress?"

"Walburga Black," Harry said. "My father was her cousin. Did you know that?"

The house-elf's eyes bulged. "No. Kreacher did not know that. So...Master is a true Black, by blood?" he asked excitedly.

"Apparently I am. My grandfather was Charlus Potter, who married Dorea Black. She was the daughter of Cygnus and Violetta Black, and granddaughter of Phineas Nigellus."

"Oh, Master!" Kreacher cried, falling to his knees. "My Master is the grandson of Phineas Nigellus Black?"

"Well...great-great-grandson, I suppose," Harry said, trying to work it out.

Kreacher could barely contain himself.

Voldemort cackled in delight. "_Oh, Master_!" he mocked in a falsetto voice. "_The great-great grandson of Phineas Nigellus_!"

"Please, calm yourself, Kreacher," Harry said, glaring at Voldemort. "I've only just found out so I don't really know all the details yet. I suppose I should pay a visit to my great-great grandfather's portrait and find out why he neglected to tell me I was his rightful Heir," he mused with a frown. Why _hadn't_ he told Harry? In his own way, Phineas seemed to be almost fond of Harry now, and Harry enjoyed talking to him, despite the old man's cryptic remarks and strange behavior of late...all of which suddenly made sense. Obviously he had been giving Harry clues about his heritage, but why? Why not just tell him straight out?

Kreacher was practically shaking with excitement.

"Er...I could really do with that sandwich now," Harry told him. The house-elf's reaction was making him uncomfortable. "That will be all," he said with a commanding nod.

"Yes, Master! Kreacher will make the sandwich now!" He disappeared with a loud pop.

"God," Harry said. "I'll never get used to the way house-elves grovel." He looked disdainfully at Voldemort, who was still cackling. "I know _you_ liked everyone to grovel at your feet, kissing the hem of your robes, but I think it's horrible when anyone acts that way. It's so demeaning."

"You're too soft, boy," Voldemort replied. "You have so much power and yet you don't know how to use it...or you refuse to. I don't know which is worse."

"_With great power, comes great responsibility_," Harry quoted.

"And what precisely do you mean by that?" Voldemort asked.

"Well...look at you and Dumbledore. Both of you had great power and both of you misused it. And where did it get either of you in the end? Dead. But it's the Wizarding World who has to pay for it now. It's all a mess, thanks to the two of you."

"Ah! It appears the Golden Boy has shed his illusions about the old fool."

"Those illusions were shattered a while ago. I can't bring myself to hate him for the things he did but I do admit, I am still angry with Dumbledore for all his manipulations and machinations, and for the way he controlled every aspect of my life." He looked at Tom. "And I'm angry with him for ignoring the needs of two orphan boys, both of whom asked to stay at Hogwarts during the summers, for good reason, which he refused to allow."

Tom's eyes widened at that, but Voldemort got enraged. "Don't _dare_ speak of that time in my life, Potter," he spat.

"I wasn't talking to you," Harry retorted. "I was speaking to Tom." He turned his gaze to the young man in the portrait. "I know more about you than you probably think. I know you asked to stay at Hogwarts during the summers so you wouldn't have to go back to the orphanage. I can only imagine how awful it must have been to have to live in a Muggle orphanage during World War II, with all the bombings going on in London at the time. It must have been a terrifying experience."

Tom sneered at him. "You don't know anything about me, Potter," he said coldly.

"Yes, I do. I probably know more about you than _you_ do. I've seen things...Pensieve memories about you and your life. I've seen a Pensieve memory of your mother, Merope. It was very sad. She had a hard life."

Both Tom and Voldemort looked startled by that information. "You saw my mother?" Tom asked, his voice wavering slightly.

"Don't be so sentimental, boy!" Voldemort said to Tom in a derisive tone, but he too looked shaken. "Perhaps you can show us that memory, Potter," he suggested, in a manner far too casual than his demeanour indicated.

"How would I do that?"

"I can teach you a spell that shows memories outside a Pensieve, much like a Muggle film projector."

"Well...I don't - "

A knock at the door stopped him from continuing. Kreacher came in a second later, carrying a tray that held a plate of sandwiches and a glass of pumpkin juice.

"Kreacher made all of Master's favourites," the house-elf announced proudly, gazing at Harry with a worshipful expression.

"Thank you," Harry said, taking the tray. "These look lovely."

"Master is being kind. Kreacher is a bad cook."

"Are you kidding? You're a great cook," Harry insisted. "And you've made all my favourites. It can't get better than that, can it?"

"Oh! Master is too good to Kreacher," the house-elf wailed. "Kreacher is ashamed for being a bad house-elf to his Master."

"Honestly, it's alright," Harry said. "I know Sirius was horrible to you and when you became my house-elf, I wasn't very nice to you because of... well, it doesn't matter now. We got past all that ages ago, didn't we?"

"For pity's sake! Get rid of the elf, Potter!" Voldemort snapped impatiently. "We have things to discuss."

"Er...so I'm just going to eat these now," Harry said to Kreacher.

"Yes, Master." Kreacher stared at him for a moment. "But Master has a visitor."

"What? I do?"

The answer came in the form of a soft knock on the door. "Harry?"

"Ginny? Is that you?"

The door opened and Ginny peeked her head in. "Are you busy?" she asked as Kreacher bowed then disappeared with a pop.

"I was just about to have lunch," he answered, holding up the tray and showing her the plate of sandwiches.

Ginny entered the room and smiled at him. "Looks good. Can I have one?" she asked, sitting down beside him on the bed.

"Sure. Help yourself." He sneaked a look at the portrait and saw that Tom and Voldemort were both watching them intently, identical expressions of irritation on their faces.

Ginny grabbed a sandwich. "So...how are you?" she asked.

Harry sighed. "It's been a long morning, to be honest."

She gave him a look of sympathy then put her sandwich back on the plate and took the tray from Harry, placing it behind them in the middle of the bed. "You need a hug," she said. "I can tell." Before Harry could say anything, she wrapped her arms around him.

He hugged her back somewhat stiffly, aware that Tom and Voldemort were watching.

"I've missed you," Ginny whispered. "So much." She pulled back to look at him then leaned forward suddenly to kiss him.

Harry couldn't help it; the moment her lips touched his, he recoiled.

Voldemort laughed. "It's like kissing your mother, isn't it?"

Harry wanted to deny it, but as he gazed at Ginny's hurt expression, all he could see was his mum, walking beside him in the Forest as he went to meet his death. "Oh God," he whispered. "I'm sorry, Ginny. It's not you. Honestly. I...I've just had a really weird day."

She put on a brave face and nodded understandingly. "What happened?"

"I spent the morning at Gringotts meeting with the goblins in charge of the Potter estate and the Black estate. Now that I'm of age and a legal adult in the Wizarding World, I wanted to discuss my inheritance from my parents and from Sirius. I found out some really shocking information."

"What is it?" she asked.

"Er...I'm not ready to talk about it yet. I have to find out more of the details first."

She frowned. "Don't you trust me?"

"Of course I do!" he said, trying to ignore Voldemort, who was echoing Ginny's words in a scornful imitation. He shot the portrait a dirty look.

"What are you looking at?" she asked. "Oh! A new painting. Where did that come from?"

"Um...I found it in one of the vaults I inherited."

"A very Slytherin answer, Potter," Voldemort said. "I'm impressed."

Tom nodded in agreement.

"It's pretty," Ginny said softly.

"Thanks," Harry managed to say. He was so tense and uncomfortable, he found himself squirming. "So, listen, Gin...like I said, I had a really trying morning. Can we talk later? Why don't you come back tonight? And ask Ron and Hermione to come too. I want to tell the three of you together...about what I found out today."

She frowned slightly but said, "Sure, Harry. It must be something pretty big, judging from the way you're acting. But I won't pry. If you want to wait until later to tell me...us...that's fine."

Harry let out a sigh of relief. "Thank, Gin."

She smiled, but he couldn't help but notice that her eyes were sad. "So...I'll see you later then, yeah?" she said.

"Yeah. Around eight?"

She nodded. "I'll tell Ron and Hermione." She got to her feet then leaned down and kissed his cheek.

He tensed and hoped she didn't notice. "Okay. I'll see you later then."

After she left, Harry cast a silencing spell around the room, then he exploded. "Thanks a lot!" he shouted at Voldemort.

"What?" he said innocently.

"You _know_ what, you bloody bastard!" Harry yelled. "Why do you always have to ruin _everything_?"

"And what precisely did I ruin, Potter? Your fantasy? Your illusions? I would have thought that you'd rather know the truth. I merely pointed out that the girl bears a remarkable resemblance to your mother. Was I wrong? Or would you rather go on lying to yourself?"

"Fuck!" Harry shouted, though he wasn't directing it at Voldemort.

"I'm sure you've had to face far worse things. Like me, for example."

For some reason, that made Harry laugh. "You are such an egomaniac. Honestly!" He sat back down on the bed. "Shit," he said, putting his head in his hands. "What am I going to do?" he whispered. "What am I going to do?" Infuriating and upsetting as it was, Voldemort was right. Ginny did look a lot like Lily, certainly in physical appearance. How could he not have seen that from the start?

"Perhaps we can now get back to the topic we were discussing before we were...interrupted," Voldemort proposed.

"For fuck's sake! I'm having a crisis right now. I have to work out my 'mummy issues', as you so charmingly put it! _Yours_ can wait a minute!"

"Fine," Voldemort bit out.

Harry put his head back in his hands and began to think about the similarities between his mum and Ginny. He had to face it - he'd been chasing after an illusion all along. He felt sick. What was _wrong_ with him?

After a long silence, Tom finally spoke. "I think he's having a breakdown of some kind."

"Nonsense!" Voldemort said. "It's Potter. He might be a Gryffindor but he can handle this...trifle. He's strong."

"I'm not," Harry muttered.

"Of course you are! How many times did you face me? And every time, you never backed down. You're reckless and stupid sometimes, but never doubt that you are strong."

"That's not what I meant," Harry said. "I was referring to my being a Gryffindor. I don't know if I really am one. The Sorting Hat wanted to put me in Slytherin. I told it to put me anywhere else, so it put me in Gryffindor. But maybe I really _was_ meant to be a Slytherin. I always thought the Hat wanted to put me there because of you, because of the soul link. But even after it was destroyed...I don't know. I'm still a Parselmouth. I still have secrets. A lot of secrets. Perhaps I'm not what I thought I was."

"What are you talking about, boy? Soul link? What do you mean by that?"

"Oh, right. I guess you wouldn't know, would you?" Harry said. "I was one of your Horcruxes."


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary:** After the war, Harry discovers that Voldemort dabbled in more than Horcruxes. Slash. HP/TR. Post Deathly Hallows.

**Genre:** Drama/Romance

**Pairing: **Harry Potter and Tom Riddle

**Warning:** This is a story that features a slash pairing, meaning a homosexual romantic relationship between two men. Flames are a waste of my time and yours. If you don't like slash or the pairing of Harry Potter with Tom Riddle, don't read any further.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any characters or locations from J.K. Rowling's Harry Potter series. All rights go to her.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: <strong>Thanks again for all the reviews, favourites and authorstory alerts! As always, I welcome your feedback and would love to hear what you like about the story and what you might enjoy seeing in the future. **  
><strong>

* * *

><p><strong>The Portrait<strong>

**Chapter Four**

_"That's not what I meant," Harry said. "I was referring to my being a Gryffindor. I don't know if I really am one. The Sorting Hat wanted to put me in Slytherin. I told it to put me anywhere else, so it put me in Gryffindor. But maybe I really _was_ meant to be a Slytherin. I always thought the Hat wanted to put me there because of you, because of the soul link. But even after it was destroyed...I don't know. I'm still a Parselmouth. I still have secrets. A lot of secrets. Perhaps I'm not what I thought I was."_

_"What are you talking about, boy? Soul link? What do you mean by that?"_

_"Oh, right. I guess you wouldn't know, would you?" Harry said. "I was one of your Horcruxes."_

* * *

><p>Tom let out a nearly inaudible gasp of surprise but Voldemort merely stared at Harry, his red eyes glowing unnaturally.<p>

"Er...you didn't know that, did you?" Harry said nervously. The way Voldemort was looking at him, so still and silent and unreadable, was creeping him out.

"You were a Horcrux?" Tom murmured, his brow furrowed in thoughtful contemplation. "A _human_ Horcrux. How is that possible?" he asked.

"Well, when I was a baby and Voldemort cast the Killing Curse on me, somehow when it backfired and rebounded on him...I don't know exactly, but something happened and I inadvertantly became a Horcrux." Harry frowned, trying to remember Dumbledore's exact words. "One of the theories I was told is that Voldemort had made so many Horcruxes by that time, and split his soul so many times, it had rendered it unstable. After killing my parents and attempting to kill me, when he cast the Killing Curse, a fragment of his soul broke apart from what was left of the whole and attached itself to the only living soul in the vicinity. Me."

"Hmmm," was Tom's pensive response. "Yes. I suppose that's plausible."

Voldemort remained silent.

"I don't know if that's really how it happened. It's just a theory."

"It's a reasonable one," Tom said.

"What makes you so sure you were a Horcrux?" Voldemort finally asked. "Do you have proof that a piece of my soul was living inside you?"

"I don't know. I'm not _completely_ sure I was one. It was Dumbledore's theory."

"That...insufferable...old fool!" Voldemort spat. "Always meddling. Always interfering. Always coming up with _theories_," he said scornfully.

"But you have to admit, the theory does makes sense, doesn't it? It explains the link between our minds, for one thing. It explains why my scar would hurt whenever you were near me, or even when you weren't. Did you know it always hurt when you were angry, and that I could feel what you were feeling if it was a strong emotion, like anger or fear or triumph? I'm sure you knew that the mind link went both ways."

Voldemort nodded. "I did."

"Before I got better at Occlumency, I had visions where I would see things through your eyes. I could see what you were doing, but it was more than that - I saw everything and felt it _as if I were you_. When it first started happening, I thought I was being possessed by you and that I was actually doing those things myself. And once, the night Arthur Weasley was attacked by Nagini at the Department of Mysteries, I saw and felt everything from _her_ point of view. If I wasn't a Horcrux, why would I have shared a mind link with Nagini, who was also a living Horcrux? Why was I able to feel the other Horcruxes when I was near them?"

"This is quite fascinating," Tom said. "Truly fascinating."

"There's more," Harry said tentatively.

"Well?" Voldemort hissed when Harry didn't continue. "Spit it out, boy!"

"Er...during the Final Battle, you made Nagini deliver a fatal bite to Snape because you thought he was the master of the Elder Wand. Before he died, he gave me his memories. Snape was actually a triple spy - he was really on my side, I soon discovered. I went to the Headmaster's office and viewed the memories in the Pensieve. That's how I found out I was a Horcrux, and that Dumbledore expected me to sacrifice myself so that you could be defeated. Despite feeling angry and betrayed, as I'm sure you can imagine, I was prepared to do what was necessary. And when you called for me and told me to come out and face you, I went, knowing I was going to die, and I let you kill me."

Tom looked incredulous at that. "How could you do such a thing? How could you sacrifice yourself like that?"

"I had just watched several of my friends get killed in the battle. It was the only way to put an end to everything. I figured Voldemort would kill me, destroying the soul fragment in the process, and that someone else would finish it."

"And what happened when you let me kill you?" Voldemort asked in a strained voice.

"I died. Sort of. But then I came back to life, because I had willingly sacrificed myself, much like my mother did."

"Explain," Voldemort said, eerily reminding Harry of himself, for he recalled saying the exact same thing to Dumbledore.

"After you cast the Killing Curse on me, I found myself in a sort of limbo, which oddly, took the form of King's Cross station. Dumbledore was there - "

"Of course!" Voldemort sneered. "Of course the old man was there! Always interfering, even from the grave."

"Um...yeah. He told me that when you killed me, you destroyed the part of your soul that had been inside me, and that _my_ soul was now whole and completely my own. He said I was still alive, because you used my blood when you resurrected yourself in the graveyard, and my mother's protection was still in effect. Because my blood flowed through your veins, the protection was inside us both. You were still alive, and that kept me tethered to life too. So I was given a choice: to go back or go...on..." Harry looked at Voldemort. "I chose to return and face you again."

"I would like to see these memories," Voldemort said. "The Pensieve memories of the traitor, Severus Snape, which will present themselves as memories within a memory, and your own memories of the Final Battle, including your time in limbo."

Harry thought about it. He had mastered Occlumency enough to be able to contain and isolate his memories and show only the parts he chose. Perhaps it would be easier to just show it all, rather than try to explain it. He simply wouldn't include anything about the Deathly Hallows except for the part the Elder Wand had played. "Alright," he agreed. "I'll show you if you teach me the spell."

* * *

><p>Under Voldemort's expert tutelage, Harry had got the spell right on his first try, so he started with Snape's Pensieve memories. He'd decided to let Tom and Voldemort see them in their entirety, feeling it was only fair since he'd seen so much of their personal history. Voldemort had wisely stayed silent during the parts about Snape and Lily, knowing Harry as he did, though he couldn't contain his scorn and derision during the 'scenes' with Dumbledore. Tom's lips tightened with disdain and then disgust when Dumbledore's plan for Harry was revealed.<p>

"That's unbelievable!" he said. "The bastard really _did_ set you up like a pig for slaughter."

"You seem rather sympathetic to Potter's plight, Tom," Voldemort remarked coldly. "How quaint."

"Shut up!" he snapped. "I was merely referring to the old man's manipulations, and pointing out what a fraud he was."

Voldemort gave him an odd look then they both went quiet.

After Snape's memories, Harry showed them selected memories of the Horcrux hunt, including the break-in at Gringotts, which Tom commented on afterwards.

"Really, all things considered, that was a rather impressive feat," he said, much to Voldemort's annoyance.

"It seems you have a new addition to your fanclub, Potter," Voldemort sneered.

"Don't be ridiculous," Tom muttered, his eyes burning with unconcealed animosity as he scowled at the mirror. "Even _you_ should be able to appreciate that Potter managed to do something no one else in history ever successfully achieved, including that idiot Quirrell."

"Wait! How do you know about Quirrell?" Harry asked.

"Voldemort gave me his memories when he cast the final enchantments on the portrait," Tom replied.

"_What_?"

"Enough!" Voldemort roared. "We can talk about all that later. Continue, Potter," he ordered, crossing his arms across his chest.

"Fine. Whatever," Harry said, rolling his eyes.

He pulled out his memory of the fight with Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle in the Room of Requirement during the hunt for the Diadem. As he watched the memory unfold, Harry couldn't help but notice that Draco appeared more human than he'd remembered; indeed, the blond had looked utterly horrified when Crabbe tried to cast the Cruciatus Curse on Harry. It was strange watching the whole thing from the outside. Harry saw things he didn't pick up on during the actual events. Seeing it all now, it seemed rather obvious that Draco had been trying to spare Harry's life more out of mercy than fear about what Voldemort would think when Crabbe and Goyle aimed their wands at Harry, ready to cast the Killing Curse on him, and Draco shouted, "_Don't kill him! DON'T KILL HIM_!"

Voldemort seemed to agree. "I always knew that boy would turn out to be a traitor. He was pathetic. A coward of the worst kind," Voldemort growled contemptuously. "Unlike Severus. A traitor he might have been, and I hope he is burning in hell right now for betraying me, but I can say that at the very least, the man wasn't a coward."

"What did you expect?" Harry exclaimed. "You forced Draco to serve you by threatening his life and the life of his parents! What else would you expect from an unwilling servant? Blind loyalty?"

Voldemort responded by waving his hand dismissively. "Show me the next memory."

Harry concentrated hard, for the next memory was his walk through the Forest to face his death. He wanted to show Tom and Voldemort everything minus the actual appearance of the Resurrection Stone, so he honed in on that part and edited it out, though he kept in the part with his parents, Sirius and Lupin, wanting the two men in the portrait to see that death wasn't what they thought it was.

Voldemort watched the memory in silence but when he saw the quartet that joined Harry, he spoke. "What kind of magic is this? Necromancy?"

"Old magic," Harry answered quietly, trying to quell the tears that threatened to gather at the sight of his family.

They watched the rest of the memory unfold, and when Voldemort cast the Killing Curse at Harry, Tom's breath hitched.

"Amazing," he whispered, looking at Harry when the last wisp of the memory vanished. "I don't understand how you could stare death in the face like that and just let it happen."

"There was no other choice."

"I assume the next memory is of your time in limbo with Dumbledore?" Voldemort queried, his expression sphinx-like and unfathomable.

Harry nodded and began to concentrate, isolating the memory to show everything but the parts about the Deathly Hallows.

They watched the entire sequence in absolute silence.

When it was over, Harry looked at Voldemort and said, "Do you want to see the rest?"

Voldemort gave a terse nod.

Harry pulled the memory out of his head, starting from the moment he woke up in the Forest to the very end, when Harry was left standing with the two wands in his hand, staring down at Voldemort's dead body.

And then they watched.

* * *

><p>"Well! That was certainly interesting," Tom said, breaking the silence.<p>

"Indeed," Voldemort snarled, glaring at his younger self. "Very..._interesting_," he jeered.

"I'm tired. And hungry," Harry finally said. "I'm going to get something to eat then go down to one of the other bedrooms and have a nap while you two digest everything." While they had viewed the memories, he'd completely lost his appetite, so the sandwiches had remained uneaten and had consequently grown stale. He pointed his wand at the plate and vanished them, then banished the tray to the kitchen.

"We have more to discuss, Potter," Voldemort informed him coldly.

"It will have to wait," Harry replied. "I'm exhausted right now and I can't think straight. I need a nap." He looked at Tom. "Until I know more about how the magical portraits work around this house, I want you to stay here. If anyone recognised you, it would be an absolute disaster and I won't have you risking everything and putting my reputation in jeopardy."

"Honestly, Potter, what part of 'our magic is still alive' did you not understand?" Tom said. "If I want to have a wander, I'll cast a glamour on myself first. No one will recognise me."

"What do you mean? You can actually do magic?" Harry asked in horror. "You didn't mention that before."

"I can only do it within the portrait realm. I can't perform any magic outside of it, so you needn't worry. If we could, don't you think Voldemort would have already cursed you?"

"You can do magic too?" Harry glared angrily at Voldemort, who was staring at him intently.

"Within the mirror," Voldemort snapped, glowering at his younger self. "Unfortunately, Tom was here first, so I had to make a place for myself that kept us separate, to ensure that Tom couldn't kill me or use magic on me."

"Hang on!" Harry said, looking back at Tom with narrowed eyes. "When we talked before about you running into Phineas Nigellus, you said you'd be very careful and that you would avoid him. Why didn't you just tell me you could glamour yourself?"

"Why do you think? My comments were intentionally misleading, Potter," Tom said airily. "I simply gave you the easiest, most agreeable response, to spare myself the trouble of having to divulge information I wasn't ready to share with you at the time."

"Show me your glamour then," Harry sighed. "I'm tired and I want to have a nap. Just show it to me so I can go."

"As you wish." Tom reached into his robes and took out the familiar yew wand then waved it over himself, and a moment later, his appearance shifted. It wasn't a huge difference, but it was enough.

"Fine," Harry said curtly. "That will do. If you go out and end up meeting anyone, tell them you're one of my relatives or something." He headed for the door and before cancelling the silencing spell he'd cast earlier, he turned back to look at Tom and Voldemort. "I'll be back later. Try not to cause trouble...or you'll both regret it."

"What can _you_ do, Potter?" Voldemort taunted, his expression dark and filled with malice.

"I can do plenty... such as _not_ show you those memories you still want to see, for example," he replied. He smiled coldly as he walked out the door.

* * *

><p>After a visit to the kitchen and a quick meal of warmed up stew, courtesy of Mrs. Weasley, Harry headed to the smallest bedroom in the house and laid down. He cast an alarm charm to wake him in two hours time, then promptly fell asleep.<p>

He was later roused from his slumber by the sound of someone calling his name.

"Potter," he heard. "Hey...Potter! Wake up."

Harry sat up and after putting his glasses on, looked around. But he saw no one.

"Oh, for pity's sake!" The words were followed by an exasperated sigh. "I'm _here_, you idiot!"

He turned his head and saw a smirking Tom Riddle, still wearing his glamour, in a small painting that he hadn't noticed previously.

"What the hell!" Harry spluttered. "What are you doing here?"

Tom was staring at him with a strange, inscrutable expression on his face. "I wanted to talk to you...alone," he said.

* * *

><p>tbc...<p> 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary:** After the war, Harry discovers that Voldemort dabbled in more than Horcruxes. Slash. HP/TR. Post Deathly Hallows.

**Genre:** Drama/Romance

**Pairing: **Harry Potter and Tom Riddle

**Warning:** This is a story that features a slash pairing, meaning a homosexual romantic relationship between two men. Flames are a waste of my time and yours. If you don't like slash or the pairing of Harry Potter with Tom Riddle, don't read any further.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any characters or locations from J.K. Rowling's Harry Potter series. All rights go to her.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: I've decided to break Harry and Tom's conversation up into two chapters - it will be a long one, and there is a great deal of information to cover. <strong>

**Thanks again for all the reviews, favourites and author/story alerts. As always, I welcome your feedback and would love to hear what you like about the story and what you might enjoy seeing in the future. **

* * *

><p><strong>The Portrait<strong>

**Chapter Five**

_"Potter," he heard. "Hey...Potter! Wake up."_

_Harry sat up and after putting his glasses on, looked around. But he saw no one._

_"Oh, for pity's sake!" The words were followed by an exasperated sigh. "I'm _here_, you idiot!"_

_He turned his head and saw a smirking Tom Riddle, still wearing his glamour, in a small painting that he hadn't noticed previously._

_"What the hell!" Harry spluttered. "What are you doing here?"_

_Tom was staring at him with a strange, inscrutable expression on his face. "I wanted to talk to you...alone," he said._

* * *

><p>"Why?" Harry said, eyeing Tom suspiciously. "What do you want to talk about?"<p>

"Lots of things," Tom replied with an enigmatic little smile.

"Such as?"

"Well, to start...surely you have questions you'd like to ask?"

"Of course I do," Harry retorted. "But they could have waited until after my nap." He scowled at Tom. "How did you find me anyway? Did anyone see you? Phineas Nigellus? Walburga?"

Tom smiled. "There it is," he said. "That instinct towards self-preservation. That's what's so fascinating about you, Harry. You're a Slytherin through and through. And yet, having viewed your memories and inheriting Voldemort's memories of you, it's clear that you're just as much a Gryffindor as you are a Slytherin. I must confess, I find it rather intriguing."

"Please!" Harry scoffed. "Do you really think I don't know what you're doing?"

"And what am I doing, precisely?" Tom inquired with an elegantly raised brow.

"Trying to manipulate me," Harry said, his voice flat and cold. "Don't forget, I _know_ you, Riddle. Your charm won't work on me, so don't bother trying. I'm not going to fall for it."

"You think I'm charming?" Tom smiled.

Harry rolled his eyes in response.

"I believe it wise to question other people's true motives in every given situation, but I can assure you, in this instance, I meant every word I said. I find your dual nature fascinating. Most people are very simple, Harry. Predictable. One-dimensional. But you're not. It makes you interesting. Do you think so little of yourself that you can't just take that at face value?"

Harry snorted. "Spare me the phony compliments. I use that same tactic myself when I need to get something out of someone," he stated, opting to speak in a language Riddle would understand. "So don't bother. Flattery won't work on me either."

Tom's expression hardened for a split second, then his face grew impassive. "Fine," he said in a cool voice. "It appears that the _Slytherin_ Harry is out at the moment so I will refrain from continuing to pursue my obviously unwelcome attempts to be friendly."

Silence fell as they regarded each other through narrowed eyes.

"So...are you going to answer my question?" Harry finally asked, steering the subject back on course. "Did anyone see you?"

Tom let out an annoyed sigh. "No. I cast a disillusionment spell on myself. I wasn't in the mood to talk to anyone."

Harry nodded. "Good."

Tom's lips tightened. His whole demeanour had changed entirely. Where before his countenance had been open and convivial, he now held himself stiffly and his expression was aloof.

"Listen," Harry said quietly. "I don't trust you. I have no reason to trust you. Why would I?" he asserted with a cynical shrug. "However...I do realise we're going to be stuck with each other for the foreseeable future, so maybe it would be better if we tried to get along."

"That is precisely what I was attempting to do, Potter," he sniffed. "Have you any idea what it's like for me? I didn't do all of this; Voldemort did. How do you think I feel? I woke up in the portrait suddenly, and there was Voldemort. Imagine if your future self turned out like that and you were stuck with him for eternity."

A look of despair flickered briefly across his face as he spoke, and Harry couldn't help but feel a pang of sympathy for him.

"I sought you out because I thought we could talk," Tom continued. "Until today, I only had _him_ to talk to. And it can't have escaped your notice that we utterly detest each other. He hates that I still have my humanity, and I hate...everything about him."

Harry opened his mouth to speak but before any words came out, the alarm charm suddenly went off, startling them both.

Tom winced at the sound as Harry grabbed his wand and hastily cancelled the spell.

"I keep forgetting," Harry muttered to himself.

"Forgetting what?"

"Pardon?" Harry asked distractedly.

"What do you keep forgetting?"

"Oh. Er...my spells seem to be more powerful, ever since the battle. I keep forgetting to put less...force...into them."

"That's interesting," Tom said.

"Interesting," Harry repeated.

"Yes. It gives more credence to the theory that you were a Horcrux," Tom articulated. "I suspect that your power has grown because Voldemort destroyed the soul fragment inside you, and your own magic is now free." At Harry's questioning look, he went on. "If it's true that you really _were_ a Horcrux, I think it highly likely that a portion of your magic was constantly being expended to contain the fragment and protect you from its influence. Once it was destroyed, your magic became unbound."

"Yeah..." Harry said, thinking about it. "That makes sense." He gazed at Tom. "Do you think it's possible I wasn't a Horcrux?"

"Possible, yes. Not all of Dumbledore's theories were correct." His expression changed, becoming unreadable. "I _do_ understand the power of love, you know. I might not have experienced it myself, but I understand it. He was wrong about that. It's true I've committed almost every sin - I've lied, cheated, stolen, coveted, and yes, even killed...I'm not a 'good' person, Harry, but nor am I a monster. I have feelings, just like everyone else." He averted his eyes then said, "I'm not Voldemort. He became what he did because he split his soul too many times and it took away his sanity, but before, when he was me, he was...human. That's why he hates me."

Harry stared at him, not knowing what to say.

"But, going back to your question..." Tom said. "While some of Dumbledore's assumptions were wrong, I do believe he was correct about you being a Horcrux. All evidence points that way. That..._thing_..." he said, "...the child you saw when you were in limbo...I believe it was a piece of Voldemort's mangled soul."

They both grew quiet.

"So...how exactly does it all work?" Harry finally asked. "What _are_ you exactly?"

"What do you mean?"

"From what I understand," Harry said slowly, "you and Voldemort are two separate soul fragments, contained in one object." He stared at Tom, the wheels turning in his brain as he tried to work it out. "You're a Horcrux, aren't you? Voldemort implied that you weren't one...but what else could you be? Tell me the truth, Tom. Is that what you are? Is the portrait really a Horcrux - one that I missed?"

"No, it isn't. It's a different kind of magic."

"Explain," Harry said. "What's the difference?"

"First, you must understand that we're talking about Necromancy, a very complex form of magic," Tom began. "A Horcrux is made by performing a specific ritual to split the soul and tether it to this plane. After I made the ring and the diary Horcruxes, I began searching for another way to ensure my immortality. I was looking for a back-up. I needed a second alternative - a safety measure, in case my Horcruxes were ever found and destroyed."

Tom paused and gave Harry an odd look.

"I hope you're not waiting for me to apologise," Harry said sharply, daring him to say otherwise. "I did what I had to do and I'm not sorry."

"No," Tom replied softly. "I wouldn't expect you to be."

Harry frowned. Tom was so hard to read and there was something about his response that was perplexingly ambiguous.

"I researched other branches of magic and discovered another method," Tom continued after a moment. "I had been studying Parselmagic and I came across a ritual that would tether the soul to this plane by different means." He paused again. "Do you know anything about Parselmagic?"

Harry shook his head.

"The snake represents many things - power, secret knowledge, cunning, and most importantly in this case, transformation and rebirth. Just like a phoenix burns and is reborn from the ashes, a snake sheds its skin and emerges, shedding its old form and becoming something new. That is the foundation of the Parselmagic ritual I used. Instead of splitting the soul through a violent act, the magic invoked in the ritual is rooted in its very nature - meaning, it predicates the very essence of transformation and rebirth."

Harry blinked at him. "What does that mean?"

"Simply put, the magic involved is not rooted in the Dark Arts; it's a more raw, natural form of magic that has no affinity. It just _is_, so to speak. The ritual I used invokes that raw magic and bases itself in its very nature. The result was to draw from the essence of my soul instead of splitting it, making it possible to inject that essence into the portrait."

Harry pursed his lips in frustration. "It sounds very complicated."

Tom nodded. "Soul Magic is the most complex form of magic there is," he agreed.

"So, you injected the essence of your soul into the portrait...is that basically what you're trying to say?"

"Precisely."

"And Voldemort did the same thing?"

"He did," Tom confirmed. "After using magic to 'paint' a mirror in the portrait, he performed the same Parselmagic ritual that I did and injected his soul essence inside the mirror, then he warded it with a number of unbreakable enchantments."

"So...because he placed a division between the two of you, is that why you can both exist in the portrait at the same time, as two separate entities?"

"That's one of the reasons, yes."

Harry sighed. "Alright. I think I get it so far. But I don't understand one thing - what's the difference between a soul fragment and a soul essence? Are you a soul or are you something else?"

"I suppose the best way to put it is, I am the soul of Tom Riddle; my counterpart is the soul of Voldemort."

"Explain."

"This is where the nature of magical portraits comes into play. When a person has a magical portrait painted, it captures that person as he or she is at that point in time and preserves that person in that particular form for eternity. So, I am the Tom Riddle from 1945, and Voldemort is the Voldemort from 1998. However, because our soul essences are different, it allows the two of us to exist concurrently as two distinctly different entities. My soul essence was drawn from the whole that had only been split twice..."

"...and Voldemort's was drawn from the whole that had been split seven times," Harry finished. He let out a breath. "So how old are you then?"

"Eighteen," Tom answered. "I had the portrait painted in my eighteenth year, just after I graduated from Hogwarts, and I performed the Parselmagic ritual shortly after."

"But you have Voldemort's memories...so, doesn't that make you Voldemort's age mentally?"

"It doesn't quite work like that. He transmitted them to me as blocks of knowledge and information, rather than implanting them directly inside my soul essence. The memories are more like a book I've read, instead of visceral experiences. I _know_ them, but I haven't _lived_ them. It allows me to view the memories from a distance and therefore, see them objectively."

Harry pondered that for a moment then said, "Why did he give them to you in the first place?"

"It was his back-up plan, in case the ritual failed to insert him into the portrait's mirror. It was tricky magic he was playing with and he wasn't sure it would succeed. So he gave me his memories, just in case." He gave Harry a measuring look, as if weighing whether or not to tell him something. Finally he said, "When I woke up in the portrait, they all came into my consciousness at once."

"Jesus!" Harry said. "That must have been weird."

Tom's lips quirked up in amusement. "Yes. It was."

"Do you...are you feeling different at all, now that you've seen Voldemort and what you became?" Harry asked after a moment. "Do you have any...regrets?"

"It would be impossible not to be profoundly altered by such an experience," Tom said quietly. "As for regrets...of course I have them. Making the Horcruxes, to begin with. I never would have made them if I had known the consequences they would bring."

"But what about the murders you've committed? Do you regret them?"

Tom stared at Harry and didn't answer for several seconds. "I suppose I regret them more than I did before I woke in the portrait, though I won't pretend I regret them to the extent that you seem to be hoping for. It would be a lie if I said otherwise."

Harry thought about it and decided that _any_ regret was better than none at all. It was a start, he supposed. He gazed at Tom and inclined his head to convey his understanding. "So...how many people have you killed?" he asked. "Besides Myrtle, your father and your grandparents?"

"Just them." His lips tightened. "Though it was the Basilisk that killed Myrtle so I wouldn't call it murder exactly. It's one thing to be indirectly responsible for someone's death, but to actually _kill_ someone - that's different. The first person I ever killed was my father." Tom's eyes flashed as he spoke. "Yes, I killed my father and my grandparents, Harry, and I cannot bring myself to regret it."

"I saw a Pensieve memory of you at the Gaunt house with Morfin right before you went over to the Riddle House and did it," Harry said hesitantly.

"Did you?" Tom gazed at him assessingly. "I would be interested to see it."

"Can you show me _your_ memories?" Harry asked. "Can you perform the same spell within the portrait?"

"Yes...I suppose I can," Tom replied, his eyes narrowing." Why? What are you proposing?"

"A trade," Harry said evenly.

"I see. A memory for a memory?"

Harry nodded.

"A very Slytherin proposition," Tom noted with an incline of his head. "Very well. I accept your terms, Harry. Which memory did you want me to show you?"

"The one where you killed your family."

Tom stared at him. "That is a very _personal_ memory," he said.

"I showed you a lot of personal memories too," Harry stated calmly. "It's only fair that you reciprocate, don't you agree?"

Tom's face darkened.

"Look," Harry pointed out, "we're going to be stuck with each other for who knows how long, and that means we'll be getting to know one another very intimately. You want me to show you my memories. Fine. I want to see yours. I don't see what you have to hide anyway. I know what you're capable of. I know what you've done. Besides, it's not like I'm going to tell anyone."

"I'm aware that you know a lot about me, Potter," he said, his voice tight. "That memory is personal for other reasons. It's not because I killed them...it's because of _why_ I did it."

Harry gazed at him for a long moment. "Yes. I understand. But those are my terms," he said firmly.

"Fine," Tom snapped. "You go first."

"Alright. But if you don't show me your memory afterwards, I won't show you any more of _my_ memories again, including the ones about your mother."

Tom glared at him. "Just get on with it, Potter."

Harry placed his wand to his head, then paused. "Hang on," he said as a thought occurred to him. "I'm going to enlarge the painting so we can both see better." He aimed his wand at the painting and cast a wordless Engorgement Charm on it, and suddenly Tom was life-sized again, staring at Harry with an expression of pure acrimony and indignation.

"Are you ready now?" Tom asked coldly.

Harry quickly cast an Imperturbable Charm on the bedroom door then told Tom to cast one inside the painting.

"I already have, Potter," he sneered.

"Why are still wearing a glamour then?" Harry asked.

"For pity's sake," Tom grumbled, removing the glamour. "There. Anything else?"

"Do you want just the Pensieve memory of you and Morfin or do you want me to include the parts before and after, where Dumbledore and I talk about it?"

"All of it."

Harry concentrated and pulled the memory from his head then cast the spell to project it onto the wall.

As they watched Dumbledore and Memory Harry talk about Tom's history and early life at Hogwarts, Harry sneaked a look at Tom.

His eyes were fixed on the wall, watching the conversation with a look of rapidly increasing fury. "You both think you had me figured out, didn't you?" he bit out angrily when the conversation ended and the two figures in the memory prepared to enter the Pensieve. "And you, taking everything Dumbledore said as gospel. How naive. Pathetic!"

Harry didn't respond. In some ways, Tom was right. He _had_ accepted all of Dumbledore's theories as truth. Now he was no longer sure what to think.

They watched the actual Pensieve memory in silence, though Harry heard Tom mutter something under his breath at the first sight of Morfin. When the memory turned to the discussion that followed, Tom crossed his arms over his chest.

Finally it was over, and Tom turned to look at Harry, his eyes blazing.

"Dumbledore and his smug, arrogant assumptions! Passing judgement down from the mountaintops. How I hate that man!" Tom spat. "I went to the Gaunt house to meet my family. And _that's_ what I found - Morfin, that disgusting piece of filth, calling my mother a slut and telling me that my other family lived just across the way. And you and Dumbledore presumed to imagine that you knew what I was thinking and feeling? You have no idea!" he shouted. "Do you really want to know what happened when I went over to my father's house?" he cried, brandishing his wand and placing it to his head.

"_Ostendo Memoria_!"

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><p>tbc...<p> 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary:** After the war, Harry discovers that Voldemort dabbled in more than Horcruxes. Slash. HP/TR. Post Deathly Hallows.

**Genre:** Drama/Romance

**Pairing: **Harry Potter and Tom Riddle

**Warning:** This is a story that features a slash pairing, meaning a homosexual romantic relationship between two men. Flames are a waste of my time and yours. If you don't like slash or the pairing of Harry Potter with Tom Riddle, don't read any further.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any characters or locations from J.K. Rowling's Harry Potter series. All rights go to her.

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><p><strong>Author's Note: While writing the previous chapter, I went over all of the Pensieve memories from the HBP book and examined them at length, as I'm sticking very firmly to canon and want to stay true to the books. I noticed that not only were the memories one-sided (and in some cases, full of pure conjecture and speculation), but they also had a definite neutrality about them that could be interpreted in a number of different ways. As I read and re-read those scenes from the book, I took note that it was actually Dumbledore who had theorised who Tom Riddle really was as a person, and Dumbledore who made assumptions about what Tom did and what drove and motivated him. As such, I realised the thoughts I expressed in my original Author's Note from Chapter 3 (which has now been amended) were based on the film versions of Tom (and the two different actors' portrayal of him), rather than the actual Tom from the books. <strong>**When it comes to the books and HP canon, if you read the scenes with Tom in The Chamber of Secrets and look only at the actual Pensieve memories of him from The Half Blood Prince, putting aside Dumbledore's analysis and interpretations, Tom's actual behavior, words and actions show a person that is far more human and emotional than he is made out to be. It is my belief that it was the conditions in his life that influenced him to be the way he was. Regarding the psychological architecture of his personality (as well as Dumbledore's own motivations - his prejudice and bias towards Tom born from **_**his **_**experiences, particularly with Grindelwald), it's something I've been addressing as this story is unfolding. That is why in the previous chapter, Tom was so indignant about Dumbledore's theories about him, and why he reacted the way he did. I'm trying to point out the assumptions Dumbledore made and correct them through Tom's response to them; his words and memories will show the truth, and as the story progresses, his actions will reveal who he really is.**

**Thanks again for all the reviews, favourites and author/story alerts. As always, I welcome your feedback and would love to hear what you like about the story and what you might enjoy seeing in the future. **

**Sorry it took so long for this chapter. Tom's memory was very difficult to write.**

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><p><strong>The Portrait<strong>

**Chapter Six**

"Dumbledore and his smug, arrogant assumptions! Passing judgement down from the mountaintops. How I hate that man!" Tom spat. "I went to the Gaunt house to meet my family. And _that's_ what I found - Morfin, that disgusting piece of filth, calling my mother a slut and telling me that my other family lived just across the way. And you and Dumbledore presumed to imagine that you knew what I was thinking and feeling? You have no idea!" he shouted. "Do you really want to know what happened when I went over to my father's house?" he cried, brandishing his wand and placing it to his head.

"_Ostendo Memoria_!"

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><p>Tom's memory filled the entire painting, and as it took shape, Harry noted it was a lot like watching a telly.<p>

The scene began with a visibly upset Tom Riddle walking up the long drive towards the Riddle House. Although it was dark out, the old-fashioned lamp he'd had with him at the Gaunt Shack was absent. When Tom got to the door, he stopped for a long moment, his expression nervous and hesitant. Finally he raised his hand and knocked.

The door was opened by a young maid, who started at the sight of him. "You...you look just like...oh my!" she stammered, clearly nonplussed.

"Good evening," Tom said smoothly, his mask back in place. "I was hoping to speak to Mr. Riddle. Is he in residence at the moment?" he inquired.

The maid gaped at him for several seconds then finally seemed to remember herself. "Oh...pardon me," she blushed, unable to take her eyes off Tom's handsome face. "Please, come in," she said, opening the door wider and moving aside to allow him entry.

As he walked into the great hall of the manor, Tom flashed a charming smile at the maid, and she smiled back at him shyly, her cheeks turning pink.

"The family is just about to sit down for dinner," she said, casting another glance at him. "If you'll wait here, I will inform them that they have a visitor." She gave him one last look, then hurried off.

As soon as he was alone, Tom dropped the facade. He looked round, his eyes growing wide as he took in the opulence of the hall, and Harry could see a sudden flicker of longing in his expression. One might have attributed it to be a longing for the wealth on display but Harry peered closer and could see something beyond that. He had felt the same emotion himself not to recognise it at once.

It was hope.

Yes. Tom Riddle, the sixteen-year-old orphan, stood in the hall waiting to meet his father, and it was there in his eyes, plain as day...a tremulous, burning hope Harry knew all too well.

He understood now why Tom hadn't wanted him to see this memory.

Suddenly the sound of loud footsteps approaching caught Tom's attention, and Harry watched as the young man in the memory nervously ran a hand through his hair then straightened his tie, obviously trying to make himself look more presentable. He looked so vulnerable...so young. The gesture made Harry's heart wrench.

The maid appeared a few moments later and gave Tom an uncertain smile. "The family will see you in the drawing room," she told him.

He nodded, and Harry could see him swallow almost imperceptively.

"If you'll follow me..." she murmured, and Tom nodded again, seemingly unable to speak.

The maid turned and began to walk.

Tom followed, looking more and more nervous as they made their way down the centre of the hall. His face had gone white, and he was trembling slightly, but the hope still burned bright in his eyes. To see the proud, arrogant boy reduced to such a state of raw emotion...it was terrible. Harry's chest tightened.

They turned a corner. Tom's breathing grew erratic and his cheeks became suddenly flushed as they approached the drawing room. Harry felt the anticipation as if it were his own. He could feel everything that Tom was feeling - the same fear, the aching hope, that painful longing to be wanted and _claimed_, the bitter certainty of rejection born from a lifetime of experiencing only that, a premonitory sense of foreboding that things were about to go dreadfully wrong...he felt it all as if he were Tom himself.

It was overwhelming, and Harry had to avert his eyes for a moment and take a deep breath.

This was wholly unexpected. Why was he feeling everything so directly from Tom's point of view? Had Tom's magic reached beyond the confines of the painting to manifest as a strange kind of Legilimency?

Or...was it a case of extreme empathy that had taken possession of Harry? Was he feeling this way because he was an orphan too and he could imagine exactly what Tom was going through because he'd felt every one of those emotions himself?

The maid looked at Tom and whispered, "Here we are," then led him into the room. This was it.

Tom entered, and everything went still.

The family was sitting on the sofa in a formal pose, the three of them all in a row. It was an intimidating sight.

"That will be all, Daisy," the eldest man said in a stiff voice, and the maid quickly bobbed down into a curtsey then hastily left the room.

Harry glanced at the three haughty faces, two of which looked remarkably like Tom's, then looked at Tom himself. He almost wished he hadn't. Tom looked completely overcome. He was pale and shaking, and desperately trying to regain his composure.

"Good evening," the eldest man said coldly. "I am Thomas Riddle and this is my wife, Mary, and my son, Tom." He paused, then said, "And you are?"

"My name is Tom Riddle, sir."

His voice was small. Harry felt the sudden urge to punch something. The once confident, fearless young man was gone, stripped away to this stark revelation of naked humanity; and what remained was _this_ Tom, this vulnerable, quivering boy who was so cowed by his imposing Muggle grandfather, it was almost unbearable to watch.

"I see." Thomas turned to the other man on the sofa. "It appears you have a _son_," he stated.

Tom Riddle Sr. flinched at his father's glacial tone. "I...I didn't know, Father," he stammered.

"Is that so?" Thomas asked, raising an elegant brow.

"You...you really didn't?" the youngest Tom whispered. "You didn't know about me?"

They all turned to look at him.

"Where do you come from, boy?" Thomas barked.

"I...I came from the orphanage, sir. It's where I live...in London."

"An orphanage?" Mary exclaimed. "This won't do, Thomas!" she murmured to her husband. "This won't do at all!"

Hope flared in Tom's eyes.

"So she's dead then, is she?" Tom Riddle Sr. said suddenly, addressing his son for the first time. "Your mother is dead?"

Tom looked at his father and slowly nodded. "She died...giving birth to me. She...Mrs. Cole said she showed up at the orphanage the night I was born. She gave birth to me...then...died." He paused, a war of conflicting emotions evident on his face. "She told them I was to be named Tom Riddle, after my father." The last word was said in a whisper.

"How old are you, boy?" Thomas asked sternly, in a tone that conveyed he would brook no nonsense.

"Sixteen, sir. I was born 31 December, 1926."

The formidable old man frowned, obviously working out the dates. He turned to his son and regarded him with an icy stare. "You said the girl tricked you into marrying her, falsely claiming she was carrying your child. You said you believed it to be true and that you accepted responsibility for the result of your dalliance and thus, married her out of a sense of duty and honour." His eyes narrowed. "And yet...the boy here was born only a few months after you returned home without her. You would have known she was with child, her being that far along. She might have lied to get you to marry her but you conceived a child with her after you were married."

"Father..." Tom Riddle Sr. began, but Thomas raised a hand to silence him.

"You lied to us," he continued cuttingly, his voice arctic. "Not only did you shame the family by marrying someone so beneath you, thereby breaking your betrothal with Cecilia and forcing her family to cut ties with us...but you abandoned your then-pregnant wife and lied about it to your mother and I!"

"But...Father...it was - "

"Not another word," Thomas snapped. He turned to Tom. "You, boy! You will return to the orphanage and collect your things. The Riddles do their duty!" He shot a frigid look at his son. "We honour our responsibilities."

"Sir...?" Tom ventured hesitantly, though his eyes betrayed his excitement.

Harry's heart lurched.

"We can put him in the Blue Room," Thomas said to Mary. "There will be talk but that can't be avoided."

The expression on Tom's face changed, becoming more guarded, but Harry knew better. That strange empathy had taken possession of him again and he could suddenly feel everything Tom was feeling, just like he had before. But now, inexplicably, Harry could read his thoughts too.

Tom was imagining the possibilities: returning to Hogwarts, no longer an orphan...claimed by his _Muggle_ family, yes, but that could be explained and accepted easily enough. They might be Muggles, but they were highborn Muggles who obviously had power and prestige and wealth. His fellow Slytherins would need some coaxing but it wouldn't take much to convince them that he had secured himself a far loftier position as the newly discovered grandson of Thomas Riddle, a man who commanded respect and wielded authority as expertly as any Pureblood, than the one he'd had. He would no longer be the penniless, pitiful boy forced to live at Wool's Orphanage during the summers. He would have a home, in a grand manor no less, and a real family...and perhaps, a future now filled with greater prospects than he'd ever dared to dream of...

"But...Father!" Tom Riddle Sr. suddenly burst out. "You can't mean...you can't be suggesting that he stay _here_ with us?"

Tom's eyes widened and fixed on his father as anger bloomed on his face. Even worse than the anger, Harry could feel the hurt Tom felt at his father's vehement rejection.

"You _dare_ to suggest otherwise?" Thomas bellowed. "You abandon your wife and child and then dare to suggest that we turn our back on our own?" The old man stood up, looking livid with rage, and pointed a finger at his son. "You are a disgrace!"

Mary stood as well and faced her son. "How could you?" she cried. "How could you do such a thing? We raised you to honour your responsibilities and obligations! How could you abandon your wife when she was carrying your child?"

"She tricked me!" Tom Riddle Sr. yelled. "She ruined everything! I never loved her - I loved Cecilia! It was all a lie!" He jumped up and gestured wildly. "She bewitched me!"

Tom went completely still.

"Your paltry excuses are unacceptable!" Thomas roared, grabbing his son by the lapel of his jacket then pushing him away in disgust. "Have you no shame, boy?"

"Don't you understand? She was...a _witch_! A sorceress!" he shouted at his parents. "She cast some sort of spell on me...to entrap me. Do you really think I would have dallied with someone like _that_? That pathetic, plain girl from the filthy shack across the way? The tramp's daughter?"

Tom's breath hitched and he clenched his hands into fists, yet remarkably, he remained silent. He looked at Thomas and Mary, gauging their reaction, and in that instant, Harry could read his thoughts once again. Tom was holding back from cursing his father because there was still a chance that his grandparents would accept him, that _they_ would let him stay, and he wasn't going to spoil it by losing his temper.

"It's true! She admitted it! She told me!" Tom Riddle Sr. continued. "After we were married...she told me, when she found out she was pregnant. She told me she was a witch and that she had cast a spell on me to make me fall in love with her."

"This is absurd!" Thomas growled furiously. "Your lies are appalling...deplorable! You aren't even making sense!"

"I swear it, Father, it's all true. I was in love with Cecilia one moment and the next, I thought I was in love with Merope. I couldn't tell you the truth before because I didn't think you'd believe me. When I told you I married her because she made me believe she was pregnant - yes, that was a lie. But only because the truth is so hard to believe! Merope bewitched me. We got married. Then she discovered she was pregnant. She lifted the spell and confessed what she had done to me...she told me I had to know what she really was and that she'd had to end the enchantment because she was afraid the magic would hurt the baby."

Tom gasped.

"Once she lifted the spell I could see clearly again. I didn't love her! It was all a lie!"

"You expect us to believe that your wife was a witch and that you left her and your unborn son because of it?" Thomas said coldly. "This is ridiculous!"

Tom Riddle Sr. spun round to face his son. "Are you one of them too?" he shouted, and Tom froze. "A demon? A witch's spawn? Tell them! Tell them what you are!"

"Stop it!" Mary cried. "Thomas, he's gone mad!"

"They don't believe it, boy, but I know what you are!" Tom Riddle Sr. ranted rabidly. "You're just like your mother, aren't you? An abomination! The devil's child! I didn't want you then and I don't want you now!"

"_Avada Kedavra_!" The wand was out and the curse was cast before anyone knew what was happening.

Tom Riddle Sr. collapsed to the floor, dead.

Mary screamed.

Tom rounded on his grandparents, shaking uncontrollably, his magic crackling around him.

They both recoiled, identical looks of terror on their faces.

"I have to! I have no other choice now!" he shouted hysterically, more to himself than to them. And with that, he swiftly cast the Killing Curse on Thomas, then Mary.

When their bodies hit the floor, he fell to his knees and began to sob.

The memory abruptly ended, and Harry blinked as the scene changed and the painting come back into focus, to reveal a grassy meadow with a large tree left of centre.

Tom was nowhere in sight, but the sky in the painting was dark and it was raining, so Harry knew he was still there.

Harry approached the painting and sat down on the floor. "Tom?" he whispered. "Come out. Please?"

A few minutes passed before Tom finally emerged from where he'd been hiding, behind the tree. He was soaked from the rain and Harry could tell that he'd been crying. He glanced at Harry then sat down on the grass.

They gazed at each other for a long time, neither saying a word.

Finally Harry spoke. "I'm sorry...I misjudged you. I was wrong," he said quietly.

Tom stared at him and remained silent.

"I...I was naive. I believed Dumbledore's assessment of things...his speculations about you...and never thought to question it. But I was wrong. _He_ was wrong."

Tom's expression shifted but he still said nothing.

"I understand, you know," Harry whispered. "I understand how you felt."

"You don't understand anything, Potter," Tom hissed.

"Do you really think that? If there was ever _anyone_ who could understand, it would be _me_. Do you forget that I'm an orphan too? Do you think I don't know what it's like to have hope, to believe that everything is going to change, then have it taken away in an instant? That's what happened to me when I lost Sirius."

Tom looked down at the grass and shrugged.

"And I lost control afterwards and tried to _Crucio_ Bellatrix," Harry continued. "I wanted to kill her. I wanted to make her hurt the way I was hurting." He waited until Tom looked at him again then said, "I wanted to murder her. She was the only person I ever really wanted to kill. Did you know that? I didn't even want to kill Voldemort. I never wanted that."

Tom sighed.

"When I was watching the memory...I could feel your feelings. I could read your thoughts. It was...more than just me understanding what you were going through because I could put myself in your place. It felt like...it was similar to what it was like with Voldemort...when we shared that mind link."

"The Parselmagic ritual required blood, among other things," Tom said tiredly. "Voldemort used your blood in his resurrection, so it was your blood that was used in the Parselmagic ritual he completed when he painted himself into the portrait and injected his soul essence into it. It was also used when he gave me his memories."

"So...we have a magical link - a mind connection?" Harry gasped. "You and I? Me and Voldemort?"

Tom nodded.

"Did you feel my feelings when you watched _my_ memories?"

"Yes."

"What was it like?" Harry asked.

"It was...disturbing," Tom replied after a moment.

They looked at each other and their eyes locked.

"Tom?"

"What?"

"You...regretted killing your grandparents, didn't you? I mean..._really_ regretted it."

"Of course I did, Potter," he snapped. "Wasn't that obvious?"

"I'm sorry."

"I don't need your pity!" Tom hissed, his eyes flashing dangerously.

Harry gazed at him. "It's not pity. It's understanding. There's a big difference between the two."

At those words, the anger seemed to deflate from Tom and he suddenly looked exhausted. "I don't want to talk about it."

"Okay."

Tom cast him a suspicious look.

"I won't press. I just wanted you to know I understand, better than you think. But that's all I'll say for now." He slowly got to his feet. "I have to go send an owl to the Burrow. I don't feel like talking to everyone tonight, especially not Ginny."

Tom nodded.

"Are you going to stay here?" Harry asked.

"Yes. I want to be alone. I've been stuck with Voldemort all this time. I can't...I'm going to sleep. I'm tired."

"Alright...I...er...I'll see you later, I guess."

Tom inclined his head then turned away.

Harry headed for the door. He gave one last look at the boy in the painting then opened the door and exited the room.

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><p>tbc...<p> 


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary:** After the war, Harry discovers that Voldemort dabbled in more than Horcruxes. Slash. HP/TR. Post Deathly Hallows.

**Genre:** Drama/Romance

**Pairing: **Harry Potter and Tom Riddle

**Warning:** This is a story that features a slash pairing, meaning a homosexual romantic relationship between two men. Flames are a waste of my time and yours. If you don't like slash or the pairing of Harry Potter with Tom Riddle, don't read any further.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any characters or locations from J.K. Rowling's Harry Potter series. All rights go to her.

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><p><strong>Author's Note: Without wanting to delve too deeply into my private life, I would like to explain a few things about this story. I was drawn to writing it in the first place because I wanted to tell a story that I understand on a very personal level. I was drawn to the HP series from the start, because I identified so strongly with the two main characters. I know what it's like to be an orphan. I know what it's like to be unwanted and raised in very unpleasant circumstances. I know what it's like to go away to boarding school at a young age and discover a whole new world that was previously unknown, and find a home there for the first time. I know what it's like to have a life shrouded in secrecy, and what it's like to live off a strictly limited trust fund and then suddenly find out there's a bigger inheritance when you come of age. There are things I have in common with both Harry and Tom; because of that, I feel I can really get into their heads and understand what drives them, as well as understand what issues they are facing and will be facing at this point in their life. Just as importantly, in addition to the similitude described above, I know what it's like to be completely alone and then when you least expect it, to find your soulmate, a person who has suffered and is as damaged and messed up as you, but who balances and completes you. This is a story about that journey - about two people who are looking for a second chance at life and who seek to find understanding, healing and redemption in each other.<strong>

**Sorry this chapter took so long but like the previous one, it was difficult to write. Hopefully most chapters will be updated faster but I want to take my time to develop the story with care, and not get sloppy and rush through things just to get an update posted. The chapters that are particularly intense or emotional require some digging into very personal history and that can often take me to a dark place, which makes it more challenging, but hopefully the result will be a story that is more authentic.**

**Thanks again for all the reviews, favourites and author/story alerts. As always, I welcome your feedback and would love to hear what you like about the story and what you might enjoy seeing in the future. **

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><p><strong>The Portrait<strong>

**Chapter Seven**

After sending an owl to the Burrow with a hastily penned note asking his friends to come visit the following day instead of that evening, Harry went to his bedroom and headed straight for his trunk, ignoring the portrait completely.

"Potter! Where have you been?" Voldemort snapped. "We have much to discuss - "

"Not now," Harry said in a strained voice as he pulled out his Invisibility Cloak and quickly threw it over himself.

Tom's memory and their subsequent conversation had hit Harry hard. He needed to get away - _now_ - and could think of only one place he wanted to go.

"Wait just a minute, Potter!" Voldemort protested furiously. "Where do you think you're going? You've been gone for hours and I want to talk to you!"

"Later!" Harry hissed.

And with that, he Apparated to Godric's Hollow.

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><p>The graveyard appeared to be deserted, but Harry kept the Cloak on as he approached his parents' grave.<p>

He knelt down in front of it and stared at the white marble headstone. His throat tightened as he read the words inscribed on it for the second time in his life:

_"James Potter, born 27 March 1960, died 31 October 1981_

_Lily Potter, born 30 January 1960, died 31 October 1981_

_The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death."_

"Hi, dad," he whispered. "I'll come back again soon to visit both of you...but right now I really need to talk to mum."

Closing his eyes, Harry opened his hand and concentrated hard. He had never conjured anything out of thin air before, let alone without his wand, but he reached deep inside himself and sought out his magic...and simply wished it into being. It worked. Within seconds, a pristine white lily was sitting in his palm.

Harry looked at it for a long moment, then carefully, reverently, placed it in front of the headstone.

"Hi, mum," he choked out as tears welled in his eyes. "I...I really miss you," he whispered. "I wish you were here. I wish I could see you again." He traced a finger over her name.

L - I - L - Y.

It sent a strange shiver through his body.

He pictured her face, remembering the way she had looked at him in the Forest before he began the walk to his death. Knowing he was alone, he didn't try to hold back but instead let his tears fall without restraint.

"I'm really confused, mum," he finally continued when he could speak again. "Everything is...I don't know. I don't know what to do...what to think..."

A breeze gusted through the graveyard and then suddenly, he sensed something.

It was a presence, and it was right behind him. He stiffened as he felt it draw closer, then gasped when he felt ghostly arms wrap around him.

"My brave little boy," a soft, gentle voice murmured. "I'm here."

Harry gulped. "Mum?" he whispered. He tried to turn, and made a move to take off the Cloak, but she stopped him.

"No...keep it on," she said.

He frowned but nodded, then shifted around to face her. "How...? How can you be here?"

Lily smiled and took his hand. "You needed me," she said simply.

"But - "

"The master of Death," she whispered. "You Summoned me."

"I...I did? But how? I didn't use the Stone."

"Yes, but you put two of the Hallows in the Potter vault today and you're wearing the Cloak. As the master of Death and the keeper of the Hallows, you have the power to Summon the dead now."

"But...I don't want that kind of power! I never wanted it!" he exclaimed. "I only kept the Hallows because I didn't want anyone else to get their hands on them. They're dangerous. I only kept them because I feel...responsible for them."

"I know, sweetheart. And that's what makes all the difference," she said. "The power of the Hallows is either a curse or a blessing, depending on the intention of their Keeper. It's because of your innocence, and your virtue, Harry, and your desire to protect them rather than use them - "

She broke off to smile at him. Her eyes shined with pride. "Because of that, you have been chosen by the magic of the Hallows to possess their gifts, to be the true, rightful master of Death, precisely because you haven't tried to seek the power they bestow."

Harry clutched her not quite solid hand. "So...I only wished for you...but I didn't use the Stone to actually Summon you...and you're here?"

"Yes. You earned the _gift_ rather than the curse," she explained. "Just like a wand chooses the wizard, Death chooses its master through the Hallows, ultimately, and it rewards or punishes the one who claims its allegiance. It's a sentient magic. Do you understand?"

"I think so," he answered.

He stared at her for a long moment, his eyes drinking in the sight of her. She was so beautiful...so perfect. He just wanted to sit there and fully take in her presence. He wanted to bask in the warmth of her love. He'd never had the opportunity to do this before. The other two times he'd seen her, everything had happened so fast; they'd barely had time to exchange more than a sentence. "This is the first time we've ever really had a chance to talk," he finally said.

Lily reached out with her other hand and gently stroked his face. "I know."

"Did I...were you Summoned because I needed to talk to you?"

She nodded then gave him an encouraging look. "Why don't you tell me what's going on?"

"I'm not sure if I can. Do you know what's happened? I don't know if I can even speak about it...because of the magical contract that's in place..."

"You can speak about it to me, but not to any mortal person," she warned. "But yes, I do know what's happened. I know about Voldemort. I know about Tom. I know about the portrait."

Harry's eyes widened.

"I've been watching over you all day. I saw everything. I understand that you're feeling...confused."

"So...you saw Tom's memory?" he asked.

Lily nodded, and her expression turned terribly sad and pensive.

It mirrored exactly how Harry felt. "I don't know what to think anymore, mum. Dumbledore was so wrong - about so many things. I feel...I feel so _angry_. I don't understand how he could have been so wrong!"

"Albus Dumbledore was a great wizard," Lily said, "but never forget, he was just a man." Her face darkened. "He made a lot of mistakes."

"Before today, I had sort of come to terms with the things he did, with the way he manipulated me and controlled my life...but now..." Harry trailed off, and gazed at his mother uncertainly.

"Now...?" she prompted.

"I can't help but wonder if it's partly his fault that Tom turned into Voldemort in the first place. All this time I had thought Tom was born evil. But I...I don't think that's true now. I can't help but think that Dumbledore failed him."

Lily regarded her son for a long moment before responding. "You are right about Tom. He was not born evil. He was a very scarred, very troubled little boy who needed love and guidance and _help_. Perhaps if he'd had those things, it would have prevented him from becoming Voldemort. And as for Albus...yes, I think it's fair to say that he failed Tom. He's said so himself."

"He has? Dumbledore said that? You've seen him?"

She nodded. "When he came to the Plane where our souls reside, he had a lot to answer for. Your father and I, Sirius, Remus, Sev - "

"Snape! You've seen him?" Harry burst out. "Oh God! Mum! I was so wrong about him! I thought he was a traitor and a coward and..." He ceased talking because his throat had tightened again. Tears began filling his eyes, and he was helpless to stop them.

"I'm so ashamed for the way I treated him, when all that time he was trying to help me...to save me..." he whispered. "And now he's dead and I can't even tell him I'm sorry!"

He'd steadfastly refused to think about Snape's sacrifice before, because it was too much; it had lurked in his mind - a giant Pandora's Box that he hadn't been ready to open. But now, all those feelings that he'd held at bay until that very moment came rushing to the surface in a sudden flood of emotion. Overwhelmed, Harry buried his face in his hands and began to cry.

"Shhhh..." Lily murmured, hugging him close in her ghostly embrace for what must have been minutes. "It's all right, sweetheart. He knows." She brushed the tears from his cheeks. "Severus is at peace now."

"Is he?" Harry asked in a subdued voice. "Everything he did...it was all for you. And Dumbledore used that. He used him...manipulated him!" he said, getting angry again. "Snape's whole _life_ was a tragedy, just like Tom's! Dumbledore failed them. He failed them both!"

Lily's expression grew haunted at those words. "I know. But _I_ failed Severus first," she said quietly. "I didn't like the direction his life had taken after we went to Hogwarts and he started getting more and more immersed in the Dark Arts. But I never should have abandoned him. I should have tried harder...or been more forgiving. I didn't know the impact the loss of my friendship would have on him. I didn't realise how much he really needed me. And then, he was absolutely devastated when I fell in love with your father. I should have known how much that would hurt him, especially after the way James and Sirius treated him."

"Mum...?" he ventured after she fell silent. "That's another thing I'm confused about." He bit his lip, worried that she would be upset by what he was about to say. "I love dad and I love Sirius...more than anything. But, the thing is...well...it's been really hard to reconcile how they were. The way they tormented Snape - they were..._bullies_...like Dudley, and Draco Malfoy. I don't understand how they could have been like that. They were so vicious and cruel." He looked at her searchingly. "I just...I don't understand."

"They were human," Lily said. "That's really the only answer I can give you. They had flaws, just like everyone. The honest truth is, I didn't like either of them very much when I first met them, precisely because of the way they treated Severus. But they grew up eventually, and I began to see a different side to them both. We became friends. And then one day I realised I had fallen in love with your father. He had grown up to be a fine man and...I loved him."

Harry nodded uncomfortably. He still didn't quite understand. It wasn't something that could be reconciled that easily. "So...you said Snape is at peace now?"

"He is. And just so you know, your father and Sirius have apologised to him for the way they treated him. Severus was so incredibly brave. I'm proud to call him my friend. I only wish things could have been different, that none of us ever had to go through what we did."

She paused and regarded him intently. "But...that's part of the design of life," she said. "Do you understand? This is very important, Harry. I want you to listen carefully and remember this: There is always a higher plan at work, even if we can't see it. Everything happens for a reason." She gave him an emphatic look. "No matter what happens, remember that. Promise me."

Harry was slightly startled by the urgency and force in her tone, and he understood suddenly that she had obviously just delivered a very significant message that he was supposed to hear. "I will. I promise," he vowed.

They were quiet for a long moment, both gazing at one another in thoughtful contemplation.

"What about Dumbledore? What about Tom?" Harry finally said. "And Voldemort...and the portrait? I don't know what to do."

Lily smiled. "Just follow your heart and you'll never go wrong. I have faith in you. You'll do the right thing."

"But what _is_ the right thing?"

"You'll know in time," Lily answered enigmatically.

"What do you mean? Do you know something?" Harry asked, his eyes widening. "Is there another prophecy or something?"

"There are some things I cannot reveal. I can only tell you to have faith, trust in yourself and let your heart guide you. If you do that, everything will turn out right."

Harry frowned at his mother's cryptic response.

"There is one thing I can reveal that you didn't know." Lily brushed the hair from his forehead, and gazed at his scar. "This wasn't just a curse scar," she said. "You didn't just get it from Voldemort's attempt to kill you. I don't know how anyone could have missed it."

"Missed what?"

"It _is_ a curse scar but the shape it took is not a lightning bolt, like everyone has always thought. It's actually a rune."

"What?" Harry exclaimed.

She traced it with her not quite spectral fingertips. "I drew it on you before Voldemort came. I did a ritual to protect you. It's the _Hagalaz_ rune. That - and my sacrifice - caused Voldemort's curse to rebound on him."

Suddenly she gave a sad smile. "My time is almost up, sweetheart, so listen to me. I want you to study hard. Study the Hallows. Learn everything you can. There is much you need to know about them and the power you have been gifted with. You must learn about it on your own though."

"Yes, I was planning on that. And I won't ever tell anyone," he promised.

"You should also start learning and practising wandless magic. And...study the Runes - it will help you," she said quickly, as if she knew she was running out of time. "Tom can teach you about them. You can tell him about the _Hagalaz _rune. Let him teach you what he knows."

"Tom..!" Harry said incredulously. "Don't you want me to stay away from them? You think I should study magic with him?"

"He is not Voldemort," she said, staring into his eyes. There was something intense about her expression.

"Well, yes, I know...but - "

"You can learn a lot from each other. He can teach you what he knows...and you can teach him what you know," she said.

She pulled him close and hugged him. "Remember what I told you. There is always a higher plan at work and everything happens for a reason."

"But - "

"I have to go now. I'm being called back. Goodbye, my sweet boy..." she whispered.

And then she was gone.

* * *

><p>Harry didn't know how long he sat there, but eventually he got up and left the graveyard. He aimlessly walked around Godric's Hollow for a while - perhaps hours; he couldn't tell - thinking about everything his mother had said.<p>

Finally, he Apparated back to Grimmauld Place. He refused to go to his bedroom. His anger towards Voldemort for taking his mother away from him was as fresh as if it had just happened. He couldn't face him.

He went straight to the other bedroom and fell onto the bed, still under his Invisibility Cloak.

"Potter? Is that you? Where have you been?" he heard Tom say a few moments later. "Potter?"

Harry sat up and took the Cloak off, then looked at the boy in the painting.

Tom peered back at him and frowned. "Voldemort is quite worked up about you going off for so long. He wants to talk to you."

"I can't talk to him right now," Harry whispered. "He killed my mother."

Tom cocked his head to the side and stared at him with a puzzled expression.

"I...I just saw her."

"Well, yes...I know," Tom said, giving him a strange look. "But we viewed your memories hours ago and you seemed fine - "

"No!" Harry said, his voice rising. "I mean..._I just saw her_. Just now!"

"What are you talking about?"

"I went to the graveyard where my parents are buried. I conjured a lily for her. I'd never done that before. And then...she came to me, and we talked..." Harry heard himself say. He was starting to feel very odd. Numb. "She told me things."

"Potter...come here," Tom said, beckoning for him to come closer.

Harry felt so peculiar, like he was drifting away. It felt like he was floating outside his own body. Tom was speaking but he couldn't understand what he was saying.

"Potter!"

He looked in the direction of the voice but didn't respond.

"Harry!" Tom said, and suddenly Harry felt himself slamming back into his body with a jolt.

The impact was so abrupt, it made him lurch forward and he lost his balance and fell off the bed and onto the floor.

"What's going on? Harry! _Harry_..." Tom repeated. It was like an echo. "Come here. Let me look at you."

Harry sat up and finally made his way over to the painting.

"Look at me," Tom said in a commanding voice, though his tone sounded anxious and worried.

Harry looked at him.

Their eyes locked.

"Your pupils are completely dilated," Tom said with a frown. "You said you saw your mother?"

Harry nodded.

"Did you Summon her?" he asked. "Have you been dabbling in Necromancy?"

"I...it wasn't on purpose," Harry mumbled.

"That's very dangerous magic to play around with, especially if you don't know what you're doing," Tom responded.

"It's complicated."

Tom gazed at him, his eyes narrowing as he scrutinised Harry's aura. "Your magic is out of control. You need to ground yourself back in this Plane."

"How do I do that?" Harry asked.

"A grounding meditation. Focus on your Muladhara," he began, then frowned when Harry blinked at him uncomprehendingly. "Your root chakra - it's at the base of your spine. Find it...feel it."

Harry closed his eyes and sought it out.

"Do you feel it?"

Harry nodded.

"Good. Now picture a cord stemming from your root chakra and then imagine it plugging all the way down into the earth," Tom instructed.

Harry concentrated until he saw the cord then he visualised it growing and lengthening, like a long Muggle electrical cord, and after imagining a plug at the end, he mentally pushed it into the earth.

"Feel it, the way it's plugged into the ground," Tom continued. "Feel it tethering you back to the earth...back to this Plane."

Harry felt it, allowing it to take a firm hold, and suddenly he was fully back in his physical body again.

"Take a deep breath."

Harry did, then let it out slowly. He felt solid again...substantial. He took another breath, then exhaled and opened his eyes.

Tom was staring at him.

"Um...thanks," Harry said hesitantly after a long moment. "That really helped. I feel okay now."

"You should know better than to dabble in magic you don't understand," Tom said.

"I wasn't...that isn't what happened exactly."

"What _did_ happen then?"

Harry averted his eyes then sighed. "I can't explain it. I can't talk about it."

When Tom didn't say anything, Harry looked back at him.

They stared at each other, neither speaking.

Finally Harry broke the silence. "I'm tired. I'm going to go to bed." He gazed at Tom for another second then got to his feet. "I'm sleeping in here. I can't be in the same room with Voldemort right now."

Tom nodded.

Harry turned and headed over to the bed then sat down.

"I don't want to be around him either," Tom said in a quiet voice.

Harry stared at him. "Alright. Fine. You can stay here if you want. Just...let me sleep." He pulled the blanket down and got under the covers then turned his back to Tom, ending the conversation.

After taking his glasses off and putting them on the bedside table, he cast a wordless _Nox _and the room went dark. He laid his head upon the pillow and closed his eyes.

"Goodnight, Harry." Tom's voice was barely more than a whisper.

Harry's eyes flew open and he frowned in surprise.

Then finally he whispered back, "Goodnight, Tom."

* * *

><p>tbc...<p> 


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary:** After the war, Harry discovers that Voldemort dabbled in more than Horcruxes. Slash. HP/TR. Post Deathly Hallows.

**Genre:** Drama/Romance

**Pairing: **Harry Potter and Tom Riddle

**Warning:** This is a story that features a slash pairing, meaning a homosexual romantic relationship between two men. Flames are a waste of my time and yours. If you don't like slash or the pairing of Harry Potter with Tom Riddle, don't read any further.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any characters or locations from J.K. Rowling's Harry Potter series. All rights go to her.

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><p><strong>Author's Note: Warning! This chapter contains slash! I'm not sure if the T rating should change later when the story gets further along. Let me know if you all think I should up it to the M rating at any point - I have no idea what the criteria is, to be honest, so I'll count on you guys to tell me.<strong>

**Harry's dreams play a very important role in the HP series, and they will play an important role in this story, which you will begin to see in this chapter. One of Harry's special abilities, which may not be widely known, is that he has prescient dreams. You can take a look at a list of them in detail at the HP-Lexicon: http: / www . hp-lexicon . org / wizworld / dreams . html (Don't forget to take out the spaces in the url). It makes for some very interesting reading and will also shed light on things that are going to come up in this story.**

**Points for anyone who gets all the dream symbols! :)**

**Thanks again for all the reviews, favourites and author/story alerts. As always, I welcome your feedback and would love to hear what you like about the story and what you might enjoy seeing in the future. **

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><p><strong>The Portrait<strong>

**Chapter Eight**

It was morning. Harry was still asleep, dreaming.

_He was at a strange sort of carnival, looking at a row of booths. One had a sign at the top that read: Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. Fred was dressed like a carnival barker, manning the booth; he glanced up suddenly and saw that Harry was there, and waved at him then turned back to his customer._

_"I think you're supposed to go into the Funhouse," someone said in a dreamy voice. It was Luna Lovegood. "I'll wait outside while you go in," she said. "You have to go by yourself."_

_Harry turned to look at where she was pointing. _

_The goblin, Ulbrok, was standing in front of a large, intricately-carved wooden door. He gestured for Harry to come closer. _

_"Go on," the goblin whispered to him. "You may go in now."_

_Harry hesitated. "What's in there?" he asked._

_Ulbrok grinned and opened the door. "Go in and you'll see."_

_Feeling a growing sense of trepidation, Harry entered. _

_It was dark and he couldn't see anything at first, but then suddenly the Funhouse lit up, to reveal a room of mirrors. Voldemort was in every one of them, laughing. _

_"No!" Harry gasped in horror. "Not you!" He ran, trying to find the exit._

_When he got outside, Luna and the goblin were gone. _

_Suddenly, a cloaked figure approached out of nowhere, then pointed to the booth directly next to the Funhouse, and pressed something into Harry's hand. "Your ticket," the cloaked figure said._

_Harry looked at the ticket, then at the booth. The sign above it read: Magic Carpet Rides. _

_"Ticket, please!" a merry voice called._

_Harry realised with a start that it was Dumbledore who was standing behind the counter. He was smiling at Harry and holding out his hand for the ticket. Harry walked over and gave it to him. Dumbledore's eyes twinkled as he placed it down on the counter, next to a thick ancient-looking black book which the old wizard pushed to the side as he plucked out one of the rolled up carpets from a basket. He handed the carpet to Harry with a wink._

_"Here you go," Dumbledore whispered. "This one is yours."_

_Draco Malfoy stepped forward and said, "Come on, Potter. The ride's this way."_

_Harry followed him and suddenly he was on a platform. _

_Draco took the carpet from Harry and unfurled it with a snap, leaving it to hover in the air. "Get on," he said._

_Harry did, and the next thing he knew, the carpet lifted off and took flight, and he was soaring through the sky, going higher and higher until he reached the clouds, which were all shaped like lilies. When he gripped the edge of the flying carpet to lean forward, he noticed that the fabric suddenly felt different. _

_He glanced down at it and realised the carpet was actually his Invisibility Cloak._

_Then everything shifted and suddenly Harry was a balloon, with a string tied to his feet._

_His eyes followed the trail of the string and he saw that Ginny was at the end of it, holding onto it tightly. _

_"No," he called, panicking. "Let go!"_

_Suddenly Tom appeared and took it from Ginny, which made Harry feel oddly relieved._

_"You can't stay up there," Tom said, and he began pulling the string down, until Harry was back on the ground. As soon as they were at eye level and their eyes met, Harry was no longer a balloon, but a person again._

_They stared at each other and then Tom suddenly moved closer._

_"I got this for you," he whispered in Harry's ear. "Take it."_

_Harry looked down and saw that Tom was holding a candied apple. There was a bite taken out of it. _

_"I had some," Tom said. "Here. Taste." And then he gently pressed his lips to Harry's._

_Before Harry could respond, Tom pulled back and smiled._

_Then he turned and began to walk away, heading straight for the Funhouse._

_"Wait!" Harry called. "Don't go in there! Come back!"_

_But Tom kept walking, getting closer and closer to the door._

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><p>Harry awoke abruptly and sat up with a jolt. His hand scrabbled about the bedside table, searching for his glasses, and once he found them and put them on, his eyes immediately went to the painting.<p>

Tom was gazing at him. Intently.

Harry flushed.

"You were dreaming about me," Tom said, raising a brow.

Harry felt his face grow hot. "What? What do you mean?" he stammered.

"You were calling my name," Tom replied. His lips were quirked upwards in what appeared to be a sort of half-smile, half-smirk.

Harry's stomach lurched at the sight of it. Did Tom _know_? "Was I?" he mumbled, looking away.

"Yes. You were," Tom said. There was a silky tone to his voice that made Harry want to shiver. "So...tell me, Harry. Why were you calling my name? What were you dreaming about?"

"I don't know. I don't remember."

"Oh...but I think you do, _Harry_," Tom said softly. "And I think we should talk about it."

"I have to go!" Harry blurted, jumping up from the bed and swiftly heading for the door. He practically fled out of the room.

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><p>After a quick trip to the loo, Harry went down to the kitchen and tried to distract himself by making breakfast.<p>

He couldn't stop thinking about the kiss.

During his Sixth Year, he'd had a few dreams where Tom had kissed him but in those dreams the kisses had been angry and tempestuous and violent. This one had been different. It had been...sweet. A gentle caress of lips against lips.

It was nothing like the others.

Harry didn't want to think about this, but it was looming over him and there was no escaping it. Despite his best efforts, it was no longer something he could ignore. Until this moment, he had resolutely pushed those dreams he'd had during his Sixth Year out of his mind; and when he got better at Occlumency, he'd mentally locked them up in a trunk and stuck it out of sight. But now, he was remembering:

One night, after seeing Slughorn's Pensieve memory, he'd had a dream about Tom being his partner in Potions class. In the dream, after the class ended and everyone had left, Tom and Harry stayed behind and exchanged words, and things got physical.

_"You're just as bad for cheating from The Half Blood Prince's book and for using all those unknown__ spells you found in it as I am for wanting to learn about Horcruxes," Tom said. "Those are dark spells that you're practising and you know it and don't care. Face it, Harry, you and I are more alike than you want to admit!"_

_"That's ridiculous!" Harry snapped. "I'm nothing like you!"_

_Tom advanced on him threateningly and poked him with his finger. "Liar!" he hissed. "You know it's true. And that's your worst fear...it's your biggest weakness. Keep denying it to yourself all you want but don't dare think you can lie to me!"_

_And then Tom suddenly grabbed Harry by his tie and shoved him up against the wall and kissed him, aggressively. _

_Harry tried to push him away but his resistance rapidly crumbled, turning into a dark, lustful desire. Fuelled by pure enmity and a raw, primal physical attraction that he couldn't resist, he soon found himself kissing Tom back with vehement fervour._

When he woke, Harry was appalled to realise not only had he dreamt of Tom kissing him, but he had liked it...and even _wanted_ it by the end. Worse, he felt utterly ashamed and confused by the fact that he'd awakened in a clear state of arousal. He'd had no idea how to justify that.

On another occasion, shortly after viewing the Pensieve memory of Tom visiting Hepzibah Smith, he'd had a dream that Tom had somehow lured him down to the Chamber of Secrets. Again, they had a heated exchange.

_"You disgust me! You don't deserve to be a Parselmouth!" Tom raged._

_"I never wanted to be one," Harry replied coldly._

_"Exactly! You have been given a gift - a rare and precious gift - and you don't appreciate it at all! You should be grateful. Proud. But you're a coward!"_

_Harry lunged at him. "Don't you dare call me a coward!" he yelled._

_And the next thing Harry knew, Tom had him pinned down on the ground and he was kissing Harry with a hunger that the Gryffindor quickly matched._

_They rolled around on the stone floor, kissing wildly, each fighting for dominance, neither wanting to submit to the other._

Harry woke up from that dream to sticky sheets. He'd been completely mortified by the discovery and it had left him feeling more confused than ever before. He'd actually wondered whether Voldemort had sent him the dream via their link but he discarded that thought immediately when he realised how actively enthusiastic his own participation had been. He had felt the burning desire in himself; he had wanted it too, just as much as Tom had, and there was no getting around it. So he blocked it out.

And then there was the dream he'd had about Tom that was the most disturbing one of all. It was right after he had kissed Ginny for the first time. On that very night, he dreamed that he and Tom were laying together in his bed.

_"You kissed her but it isn't the same as it is with me," Tom sneered. "She's a very shoddy replacement, don't you think?"_

_"Fuck you!" Harry growled. "Shut up!"_

_"Hmmm...yes. Quite right. That's what you really want, isn't it?" Tom said seductively, moving closer. "You want to fuck me," he whispered. "You want me. And you hate that. You would rather lie to yourself about that silly chit and live in a world of make-believe, convincing yourself she's the perfect girl for you, than admit I'm the one who makes you feel this way." His hand slid up inside Harry's shirt and Harry shivered as Tom's fingertips brushed against his bare skin. "This is what you really want..."_

_And in that moment, Harry knew it was true, but it made him absolutely furious. He grabbed Tom by the back of his neck and kissed him savagely, wanting to punish him. "I hate you," he whispered in Tom's ear._

_Tom laughed. "No, you don't," he said. "You want to hate me, but you don't. That's your problem." _

_Harry responded by roughly pushing him down and giving him a hot, bruising kiss, which Tom returned with fierce abandon._

_"Go ahead and chase after that stupid girl. It doesn't matter," Tom said breathlessly when the kiss ended. "You're mine. You'll always be mine, no matter how far you try to run..."_

When he woke, Harry had been determined not to let the dream affect him. He staunchly ignored it. He was happy with Ginny. He wasn't going to let weird dreams about Tom Riddle ruin that. Ginny was the one he liked, the perfect girl for him...

Back in the present, Harry cringed. He now knew why he'd thought Ginny was so perfect. What in Merlin's name was _wrong_ with him?

He put his head down on the table and covered his face with his hands.

"Master?"

He looked up. Kreacher was standing there staring at him.

"You have a fire-call. It's the mudbl-Muggleborn girl," the house-elf said, correcting himself when Harry scowled. "She said she wants to come over."

"Just her?" Harry asked. "Was she alone?"

Kreacher nodded.

"Tell her to come through," Harry said with a sigh.

Kreacher bowed, then he disappeared.

A minute later, Hermione entered the kitchen. She took one look at Harry and sat down across from him. "What's going on?" she said quietly. "What's happened?"

He shrugged, not sure where to begin.

"Did you get our owl last night?" she asked.

"No...I went out for a while then Apparated straight to my room and went to bed."

"You look...upset," she ventured.

He stared at her and slowly nodded.

"Ginny told us you found out some shocking news yesterday."

He was silent for a long moment. "I don't know what to do," he finally whispered.

"What happened?"

Harry let out a breath. He could feel a panic attack coming on. It was too much. There was too much to process and he suddenly felt like he was being swallowed up by it all.

"I can't be with Ginny anymore." The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them.

Hermione looked startled. "What do you mean? What did you find out yesterday at Gringotts?"

"I found out I'm actually a Black, by blood. But that isn't...it's not what I meant. It's not because of that."

She stared at him.

"I..I've been thinking a lot," he said. "About...things." He looked down.

"And...?" she prompted when he didn't go on.

"I realised something," he whispered. "But I don't know how to talk about it."

"Harry, you know you can tell me anything," she said. "I won't judge you."

"It's too..._weird_," he said, shifting uncomfortably.

When she didn't respond, he looked at her. She was gazing at him pensively but her expression was gentle and encouraging.

He sighed. "You know how I saw my mother in the Forest before I went to face Voldemort?" he began.

"Oh," she murmured. Her expression changed and she nodded.

"What?" he said sharply, his eyes narrowing. "Why are you looking like that?"

"I...I think I know what this is about," she said hesitantly.

"And what is that?" he said, frowning.

"Why don't you tell me?" she countered.

He shook his head.

"Harry..."

"No," he said. "Look...this is really hard for me to think about, let alone talk about. If you think you know what it is, then _you_ say it, so I don't have to."

"You saw your mother and realised Ginny looks a lot like her," Hermione said evenly.

Harry gaped at her. "How...how did you know?"

"I've seen pictures of your mum. I always saw the resemblance."

"Jesus!" he exploded. "Why didn't you say something?"

"It wasn't my place!"

"But..."

"No, Harry," she insisted. "It wasn't my place. I didn't know if you were drawn to Ginny because of that, or if it was just a coincidence and you genuinely liked her for who she is."

"I _do_ genuinely like her for who she is! But...as a friend." He averted his eyes. "You were right about the first part," he whispered.

"I thought so," Hermione said quietly. When Harry didn't look at her, she reached out and took his hand. "It's okay, you know. I understand."

"How can you understand? I'm a freak!" he said miserably.

"Actually, it's a fairly straightforward case of what Muggle psychologists call 'the Oedipus complex' - it's not that unusual or even surprising, considering the circumstances of your life. You don't have to feel weird about it. There's nothing wrong with you."

He felt momentarily relieved. If Hermione said it was something she'd heard of and it wasn't that unusual, maybe it wasn't so bad. But then he thought about Tom and the dreams. "There's...more," he said.

She looked at him and nodded. "Tell me."

"I'm really confused about...certain...oh God! No. Nevermind. Forget it," he said. "I don't know. I'm just confused."

"Harry...is this about your sexuality?"

"_What_?" he cried. He hastily cast a wordless silencing spell around them.

"Don't get upset, okay?" She gazed at him for a moment then said, "The truth is, I always kind of wondered if you were gay, or at least bisexual."

"What? Why?" he choked out in a strangled voice.

"Well, the first thing that I noticed - you seemed to be more immune to Veelas' allure than the other boys. That was my first clue."

He stared at her.

"And then...before Ginny, the only girl you ever showed any interest in was Cho. But when you kissed her, you felt nothing. The way you described it was a bit...off. It was obvious you didn't really feel anything for her. I started wondering if maybe you'd actually had a crush on Cedric and transferred those feelings onto Cho."

"Oh God!" Harry groaned, covering his face.

Maybe that was true. Now that he thought about it, he _had_ dreamt about Cedric a few times during his Fourth Year. They weren't as explosive or sexual as his dreams of Tom but he did dream that Cedric took him to the Yule Ball and kissed him...more than once even. How could he have ignored _that_? Had he just repressed it all because he didn't want to face the questions they brought up? Later, when he'd reflected on it, he'd chalked up his relationship with Cho to being a case of him liking the idea of her, more than Cho herself. He had thought she was cool and he wanted to be cool too, and he had subconsciously believed that being with her would make it so. But perhaps it was far more complicated than that.

Hermione continued, "And then later...I could tell you had a crush on Sirius."

Harry was stunned into silence. That was definitely true. He had never admitted it to anyone, but his feelings for Sirius had been very conflicting. He knew he didn't feel for Sirius the way a godson should about his godfather.

"And in Sixth Year, your obsession with Draco Malfoy - it seemed like it was...well...more than just you trying to figure out what he was up to and whether he was a Death Eater or not," Hermione finished.

Yes, he'd had a few strange dreams about him too. Despite everything, he'd always thought Draco was quite attractive physically. Malfoy had been a pompous little shit in school, but the boy was undeniably gorgeous, and Harry wasn't blind. He'd noticed, though the sheer animosity between them overruled any attraction he might have felt consciously, so he hadn't really let himself think about it before.

"Harry?" Hermione was looking at him expectantly. "Am I right?"

"I...I don't know what to say," he whispered.

"Do you think you might be gay...or bisexual?" she asked.

Was he?

The answer was pretty obvious now. He averted his eyes and finally nodded. "I think so," he mumbled.

"You know it's okay if you are, don't you?" she said. "There's nothing wrong with it."

He shrugged.

"I'm glad you've figured it out."

"_I'm_ not!" Harry snapped. "How do you think everyone will react? Ron? Ginny?" he said. "Do you really think they'll understand?"

"You don't have to tell anyone until you're ready," Hermione said.

"I don't know. Anyway, maybe I'm bisexual. Maybe I'll meet a girl I like and this won't even be an issue."

Hermione frowned. "Maybe. But I hope you won't go into denial about this. You should give yourself time to - "

Harry didn't hear the rest of what Hermione was saying because suddenly he felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up and he knew, without a doubt, he was being watched. He sneaked a quick glance around the kitchen, looking for any magical paintings or portraits that he might not have taken notice of before. On the other end of the kitchen, there was a small painting of a cottage, but he didn't see Tom in it. Yet Harry couldn't shake the feeling that he was there. Tom had probably disillusioned himself or perhaps he was hiding behind the cottage.

Harry was suddenly very glad he'd cast the silencing spell. If Tom had heard their conversation...well...he didn't even want to imagine it. He turned his attention back to Hermione.

"So you don't have to worry. I promise I won't say a word to anyone," she was saying.

"Thanks." He managed a weak smile. "But what about the other thing...about Ginny and my mum? What am I supposed to say to Ginny? Should I tell her...the truth?"

"I don't think that's something you should ever tell her. Not because it's weird or wrong, like you think, but because it would hurt her. Just tell her you're still too unsettled by all that happened with the war to get back into a relationship right now."

"But then she'll just wait for me! She kissed me yesterday when she came over. Did you know that? And it made me cringe! It was awful! I don't want to hurt her but I don't want to lead her on either."

"You don't have to sort everything out this second. Give it time," Hermione advised. "I'll talk to Ginny and try to get her to back off and give you space."

Kreacher suddenly came in and interrupted. "Master! Your great-great-grandfather would like to speak with you," he said excitedly.

Harry cancelled the silencing spell and said, "Oh really? Would he?"

Hermione stared. "Who?"

"Phineas Nigellus," Harry said to her. "He's my great-great-grandfather, apparently. It turns out I'm actually the rightful Heir of the Black estate because I'm a direct blood descendent, not just because Sirius named me as such in his will. There are only two living male blood descendents who could have inherited - me and Draco. Wait. Three - there's also Teddy now. But I'm the one who inherited it, by magic and by birthright." He turned to Kreacher. "Tell him I'll meet him in the library in a minute."

"Yes, Master."

As soon as Kreacher disappeared, Harry put the silencing spell back up. Tom was probably still lurking and Harry wasn't going to take any chances. He realised he would have to be very careful around this house now.

"I'll talk to you about everything later. Alright, Hermione?" he said. "I still have to find out why it was kept a secret from me. I haven't actually spoken to Phineas Nigellus about it yet." He narrowed his eyes. "It should be very interesting to hear his explanation."

She nodded, looking bemused.

"Don't tell Ron or Ginny. I don't know how Ron is going to react when he finds out I'm related to Draco Malfoy. It's mental! My closest living relatives in the Wizarding World are Narcissa Malfoy and Andromeda Tonks. If Bellatrix were alive, her too. And Sirius. My father was Walburga's first cousin."

"My God, Harry!" she cried. "You must be completely gobsmacked!"

"Yes. I was really shocked." He stood up. "I'm going to go talk to Phineas Nigellus now. I want to know why I was never told about this."

Hermione got to her feet and came around the table to give him a hug.

"Thanks, Herms," he whispered, wrapping his arms around her and embracing her tightly. "Thanks for talking to me and...for being so understanding."

She pulled back to look at him and smiled. "Here," she said, reaching into her pocket and pulling out a Galleon. "It's charmed. Just tap it twice with your wand and say my name if you need to talk to me. It's spelled to work only between us."

He grinned and took it from her and then his mood turned serious. "You're my best friend, Hermione," he said. "Do you know that? You've been through it all with me and you've stuck with me all the way. You never turned your back on me. Not once. I just want you to know how much that means to me."

She reached out and tucked a lock of his hair behind his ear. "And yet, I was such a fool, Harry," she said with a rueful smile. "I kept holding you back, doubting you, doubting the Hallows, doubting your intuition - when you were always right."

"We were both just trying to figure it all out. Blindly. I don't blame you for doubting everything."

"I've been thinking about this though. I always did that," she said. "When you heard the basilisk in the walls during our Second Year, I didn't hear it myself...so I didn't believe you'd actually heard anything. When you saw the thestrals - again, because _I_ couldn't see them, I was certain they didn't exist. Same thing with the voices beyond the Veil. And so on. I see how terribly narrow-minded I can be. It's a pattern I'm just becoming aware of about myself."

"We're all learning things about ourselves now, Herms. It's part of growing up. None of us are perfect, so you better not be too hard on yourself for daring to be human."

She smiled at him affectionately. "You're my best friend too," she whispered, and Harry noticed that her eyes were watery.

They hugged again.

"I'm off then," Harry said when they broke apart. "I have a great-great-grandfather to talk to."

"Okay. See you later?"

He nodded.

"Send us an owl, or if you want just me to come over, use the charmed Galleon."

After Hermione left and he was alone, Harry cancelled the silencing spell and looked at the painting of the cottage.

**:: I know you're there, Tom ::** he said in Parseltongue. **:: I'm going to speak to Phineas Nigellus now but afterwards, I'll be going to the bedroom to talk to Voldemort :: **

He glared at the painting. **:: And then you and I are going to have a talk about you spying on me ::**

And with that, Harry strode from the room, making way for the library.

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><p>tbc...<p> 


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary:** After the war, Harry discovers that Voldemort dabbled in more than Horcruxes. Slash. HP/TR. Post Deathly Hallows.

**Genre:** Drama/Romance

**Pairing: **Harry Potter and Tom Riddle

**Warning:** This is a story that features a slash pairing, meaning a homosexual romantic relationship between two men. Flames are a waste of my time and yours. If you don't like slash or the pairing of Harry Potter with Tom Riddle, don't read any further.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any characters or locations from J.K. Rowling's Harry Potter series. All rights go to her.

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><p><strong>Author's Note: <strong>**This story is about a journey. A big part of that journey will be about Harry and Tom and their relationship, but it's also about Harry's individual journey to find himself and make that final step from boy to man. Now that the war is over, he is discovering that everything he thought he knew is suddenly coming into question. His beliefs and preconceptions are being challenged and many of his illusions will be shattered, and he will have to put himself back together. As such, despite the dreams and revelations from the last chapter, Harry isn't going to just jump into a romantic relationship with Tom. They will get closer and closer as they get to know each other but there will be some bumps in the road ahead, and they will be friends first (although there will be a clear and undeniable attraction between them all the while, and a growing sexual tension of which they are both aware). Harry needs closure about certain things in his life and on top of that, he has a lot of new responsibilities to juggle, as the Heir of three estates and just as importantly, as the master of Death. This story is going to delve into some very esoteric territory which will play a huge part in the plot, as it will be the driving force behind the events to come. The relationship between Harry and Tom will develop at its own pace, one that will be realistic, considering all the factors mentioned above, as well as the strong personalities and the damaged psyches of the two young men. Tom might be changed but he's still Tom Riddle. He's experienced some eye-opening things and is undergoing his own profound transformation, but that doesn't mean he's turned "good" overnight. He's a complex character with a lot of baggage. So is Harry. They both have a lot to overcome and it's not going to be easy - but hopefully it will be interesting!**

**I've made a couple of photo manips of Harry/Tom. Check out my profile for the link to my livejournal to see them. In an effort to make this story more interactive, I've also posted two YouTubes at my livejournal that are the perfect accompaniment to this chapter and the next.**

**Thanks again for all the reviews, favourites and author/story alerts. As always, I welcome your feedback and would love to hear what you like about the story and what you might enjoy seeing in the future. **

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><p><strong>The <strong>**Portrait**

**Chapter Nine**

Harry stormed into his bedroom, slamming the door behind him with a blast of magic.

"Potter!" Voldemort squawked. "It's about time you showed up after making me wait so - " He broke off when he took a good look at Harry, who had immediately begun pacing back and forth in a kind of frenzy.

Waves of wild, uncontrolled magic swirled around him, whipping the air up in the room.

"What's this?" Voldemort asked brusquely. "Potter! What is the matter with you?"

Harry turned his head to glance at the portrait, then resumed his frantic pacing.

"Potter! I asked you a question. What's wrong with you, boy?"

"He's obviously upset," Tom said quietly. "Potter!" he called. "Potter! Harry. Look at me."

Harry stopped pacing for a moment and looked at Tom.

"What happened?" Tom asked.

"Dumbledore!" Harry spat.

Voldemort cackled. "Of course! It's always Dumbledore! What did the old fool do now?"

The lamp on one of the bedside tables exploded.

"Shut up!" Tom snapped, glaring at the man in the mirror. "Can't you see he's lost control of his magic?" He turned back to Harry. "Potter, listen. You have to calm down."

The other lamp exploded.

"Harry, look at me!" Tom said sharply. When Harry obeyed, Tom said, "Come here."

Without thinking, Harry walked over to the portrait, his eyes fixed on Tom's.

"My my, Riddle!" Voldemort taunted. "How terribly clever of you. It appears you've trained him well! How _ever_ did you manage such a thing?"

"Ignore him. Just keep looking at me," Tom said. "You need to calm down and try to rein in your magic. Let me help you."

Harry nodded. It was true, he realised distantly. His magic _was_ out of control, the same way it had been that night he blew up his Aunt Marge the summer before Third Year.

"Take a deep breath," Tom commanded.

Harry inhaled slowly and deeply, his eyes on Tom's all the while. There was something in Tom's gaze, a kind of force that was irresistibly compelling; yet, instead of riling Harry further and making him want to rebel and fight against it, it soothed him and instantly made him feel more centred.

"Yes," Tom murmured in a soft, steady voice that was almost hypnotic. "Keep looking at me and just breathe."

As Harry stared into those unfathomable dark eyes, a sudden sense of peace began to wash over him and the wind that had been whipping about the room started to die down. After about a minute, he felt things level out.

He blinked and let out another breath.

"Better?" Tom asked.

"Yeah." Harry gave him a little smile. "Thanks."

Tom's lips quirked upwards the tiniest bit and he inclined his head. "You're welcome."

"If you two are quite through," Voldemort sneered, his voice cold with irritation, "I want to know what happened with Dumbledore! What did the old man do?"

Harry's expression darkened as he turned his gaze to Voldemort. He cast a venomous look at the man in the mirror then turned and stalked over to his bed and sat down.

"He made Sirius take a magical oath swearing he wouldn't tell me of my true connection to him and the whole Black family," Harry said. He laughed bitterly. "He also made Mr. and Mrs. Weasley take one. And Lupin. And Snape. He made everyone in the Order who knew that Dorea Black was my grandmother take the same magical vow. Couldn't have me finding out I had dark ties in the Wizarding World!"

Harry looked at Voldemort then at Tom. "He never trusted me. No matter what, despite everything I did to prove myself, he never really believed in me. Did he think any little thing would push me over to the Dark side? Why would it, when the childhood he forced me to endure didn't do that already?"

Tom frowned. "What do you mean?"

"He engineered almost every aspect of my whole life, yet he ignored my existence until I came to Hogwarts. Just dumped me on the doorstep of the Dursleys the night you killed my parents," Harry said, looking at Voldemort. "Did you know that? He just left me there on the doorstep, wrapped in a bundle of blankets with a note tucked inside that said my parents had been murdered and since the Dursleys were my only living relatives, they had to take me in. I don't even know if he stuck around to see that they actually brought me inside. Aunt Petunia told me she didn't find me until morning when she opened the door to put out the milk bottles." He shook his head. "And that was all, until I got my Hogwarts letter. He just left me with those people and never once checked on me to see how I was doing. No one did. I didn't even know I was a wizard until my eleventh birthday."

Tom looked angry by the end of Harry's rant and even Voldemort looked surprised.

"That is how he treated The Boy Who Lived? His precious Savior?" Voldemort said contemptuously.

"He was so afraid I would turn out like you. But he made the same mistakes! In some ways it was worse. With you, he didn't help you when you needed it. But with me...he purposely set me up to live with magic-hating Muggles, instead of finding a place for me in the Wizarding World." Harry jumped up from the bed and started pacing again. "He forced me onto them. And then later, when I came to Hogwarts, all he did was lie to me, and keep things from me. He abandoned me whenever I really needed him."

"You didn't know you were a wizard? Until you got your Hogwarts letter?" Tom said. "But didn't you know you were different from Muggles? Didn't you do accidental magic as a child?"

"Of course, but I didn't understand that it was magic," Harry replied. "And yes, I did know I was different, but only because the Durselys made it clear I was. They hated anything that wasn't considered normal. They hated _me_. They thought I was a freak. And sometimes things happened - bouts of accidental magic - and they made sure to punish me for it, though I never understood why I was being blamed for the weird things that happened. I didn't know I had done magic."

"What kind of accidental magic did you do?" Voldemort wanted to know.

Harry thought about it, then snickered. "Once, I accidentally set a snake loose on my cousin and his friend when we were at the Zoo," he admitted with a grin. "I didn't know I was a Parselmouth at the time and I was talking to the snake and it was responding. When my cousin and his friend noticed, they pushed me out of the way and I fell, and that's when the glass vanished and the snake got loose."

Tom and Voldemort both laughed.

"I'd like to see your memory of that!" Tom said.

Harry paused, then shrugged. "Alright. I'll show it to you if you want."

The snake incident had happened on Dudley's eleventh birthday, Harry remembered. He thought for a moment. He had never talked at any length about his childhood with anyone before, in great part because he knew no one would have understood. But Tom would understand. And so would Voldemort. For some reason, that made him want to show them what his life with the Dursleys had really been like. So Harry decided to start the memory from the beginning of that morning when Aunt Petunia woke him, and go all the way up to the end when he was being punished and locked inside his cupboard.

After he cast the spell and the memory began, they all watched.

Harry had been asleep, dreaming of a flying motorbike, when Aunt Petunia banged on the cupboard door and told him to get up. As they watched Memory Harry put his socks on (after pulling a spider off one of them), Voldemort spoke.

"What's this?" he asked. "Were you already being punished? Is this how they punished you? By locking you inside a cupboard?"

Harry laughed mirthlessly. "No. That was 'my room' - it was where I always slept. But when my Hogwarts letter came and it was addressed to The Cupboard under the Stairs, my aunt and uncle freaked out and had me move to one of the bedrooms upstairs."

"What?" Tom said. "How many bedrooms did they have? And why would they force you to live in a cupboard?"

"There were four bedrooms - one for my aunt and uncle, one for guests, one for Dudley to sleep in, and one for Dudley's broken toys."

"You must be joking!" Tom exclaimed.

"Nope," Harry said flatly. "And the reason I was forced to live in the cupboard is because they hated me. They made that clear from the beginning. I wasn't wanted and they considered me to be a burden, and as such, I had to earn my keep. That meant I did almost all the cooking, cleaning, and the rest of the household chores, plus I had to take care of the garden."

"And you say your Hogwarts letter was addressed to that cupboard?" Voldemort asked, his voice incredulous. "Dumbledore would have had to have known then. What was the old fool thinking to put you in such a place?"

Harry shrugged and his expression hardened. "I imagine he was thinking he'd find a boy who would be easily led and who would give him unwavering loyalty, once he 'saved' me and got me at Hogwarts."

"And that's precisely what he got, wasn't it?" Voldemort said pointedly.

"Yes," Harry replied, giving Voldemort a measured look. "He played us all, like the expert manipulator he was. He played _you_ too."

Voldemort had nothing to say to that.

They turned their attention back to the memory.

When the entire Dursley family were sat at the table and Dudley began blubbering about his lack of birthday presents, both Tom and Voldemort sneered with disdain.

"What a repulsive, spoilt pig!" Tom said, wrinkling his nose as they all watched Dudley greedily begin unwrapping his mountain of presents.

A few minutes later, Petunia left the kitchen to answer the phone, and once she returned, she glared at Harry and reported that Mrs. Figg couldn't take him because she'd broken her leg. After an argument ensued, it was finally decided that Harry would have to come along. Dudley burst into his fake tears, and started wailing about how Harry would ruin everything.

Tom and Voldemort both made identical sounds of disgust.

When Dudley continued his crying and moaning, but then shot an ugly grin at Harry during the middle of his act, Tom growled.

"Unbelievable!" he spat. "How could you stand it?"

Harry shrugged. "It was all I knew."

Tom's lips tightened in response and he turned and cast an angry look at Voldemort.

Voldemort scowled back at him.

The two of them stared at one another, and judging from the increasingly irate expressions that animated their faces, Harry suspected that they shared a telepathic mind link because, clearly, they were having a silent, but rather fierce, argument. As their standoff continued, it became obvious that was the case when Tom suddenly hissed furiously in Parseltongue **:: Shut up! ::**

Voldemort raised a brow, his expression victorious, and Tom turned away and crossed his arms over his chest.

The memory played on.

Tom watched in sullen silence, but after a few minutes, he could barely keep still. As the events at the Zoo further unfolded, he finally spoke, launching into a running commentary about what was going on, and voicing his shock and revulsion at the way Harry was treated.

When it got to the part in the reptile house where Harry began talking to the boa constrictor, Tom smiled.

"You didn't think it was odd that you were communicating with a snake?" he asked, but there was no malice in his tone.

"I guess I wasn't really thinking about it at the time," Harry answered.

They all started laughing when Memory Harry made the glass vanish and the snake slithered past Dudley and Piers, who were both snivelling and nearly wetting themselves in fear. But the laughter stopped when Harry got punished.

"It's just like it was at the orphanage," Tom said quietly to Voldemort. "Whenever we did accidental magic, we'd get punished like that." When Voldemort didn't reply, he looked at Harry. "At first, I didn't understand why I was being accused of everything, but I figured it out soon enough...and then, I learned to purposely use my magic to fight back."

Harry nodded. He could only imagine what kind of treatment Tom probably had to endure at the orphanage, being a magical child, and not only that, but a troubled one - and a prodigy to boot. No. He wasn't going to judge Tom for using magic to protect himself, even if it _had_ been malicious magic. He had already learned that his preconceptions about Tom had been wrong and he was certain that things must have happened to drive him to violence. "I understand," he said.

"Do you?" Voldemort snapped suddenly. "Do you really _understand_?" he sneered. "What's the worst thing you ever did to those filthy Muggles? Did you fight back? Did you use your magic to punish them?"

Harry thought of Aunt Marge. "Yes. Though it was accidental magic."

"What did you do?"

"I blew up my aunt - well, no...she wasn't really my aunt. She was my uncle's sister."

Voldemort laughed. "You blew her up, you say? Now _that _is a memory I should very much like to see!" he said, his scarlet eyes gleaming.

Tom looked interested too, Harry noticed, but he stayed silent, and just gazed at Harry with a thoughtful expression on his face.

Honestly, Harry was a bit curious to see the memory again himself.

Closing his eyes, he began to concentrate. And then he cast the spell.

The memory started. It was Harry's thirteenth birthday but no one said anything to him when he came down to breakfast. He sat down at the table and got a piece of toast. As he did so, he glanced at the telly. The newsreader was halfway through reporting about an escaped convict - Sirius.

He looked so wild-eyed and mad, and so terribly haggard in the picture, Harry noticed with a pang. It made his heart ache, seeing him like that. The Harry in the memory hadn't known who Sirius was then, so he hadn't paid much attention to the picture at the time. But now, he stared at it closely, taking in every detail. Harry's mind drifted back to the Battle, and he thought about what Sirius had looked like in the Forest, just over a fortnight ago - he had looked whole again, younger, more handsome than ever.

And he was _gone_.

Feeling desolate suddenly, Harry steered his attention back to the memory.

Uncle Vernon had just told Petunia that he was off to pick up Marge. He turned to Harry and pointed at him threateningly, informing him that they had a few things to get straight. When he started in about Harry's 'abnormality' and blustered that there better not be 'any _funny_ stuff' while Marge was visiting, Tom rolled his eyes. When Vernon went on to say that they'd told Marge that Harry went to St. Brutis' Secure Centre for Incurably Criminal Boys, Tom looked outraged - so much so, it made Harry wonder if he had tapped into the connection between them and had now begun experiencing what was happening in the memory as if he were Harry himself.

Their eyes met suddenly, and in a flash, Harry knew. Tom definitely had. Knowing what was about to come, he gave Tom a wry look and mouthed, "Keep watching."

Harry couldn't hold back a grin as he watched his Memory self 'negotiate' his deal to go along with Vernon's lie and pretend that he attended St. Brutis' Secure Centre for Incurably Criminal Boys - if Vernon agreed to sign Harry's Hogsmeade permission form. He was a bit surprised to see how confident and poised his younger self was, and how in command he was of the situation, preying on his uncle's fear and holding it over him with that calculated innocence he had obviously, by that time, learned to employ to his full advantage. It was his only weapon, and he wielded it well.

Voldemort snorted. "Really, Potter! You should have let the Hat Sort you into Slytherin. What a waste!"

Tom's lips were curled up in a satisfied little smile. "Yes. Perhaps you should have. You certainly handled that like a true Slytherin." Tom seemed...impressed. And for some reason, that made Harry feel pleased.

The memory went on, showing a few choice moments of Marge's visit, then it jumped to the scene that happened at lunch on the third day.

Marge had started in on what seemed to be her favourite subject: What Was Wrong With Harry.

"_You mustn't blame yourself for the way the boy's turned out, Vernon_," she was saying dismissively, as Harry sat there, seething with rage. "_If there's something rotten on the _inside_, there's nothing anyone can do about it._"

She reached for her wine glass.

"_It's one of the basic rules of breeding. You see it all the time with dogs_," she continued."_If there's something wrong with the bitch, there'll be something wrong with the pups -_ "

The glass in her hand suddenly exploded, shattering in every direction as wine sprayed all over her.

Watching in the present, Harry smiled coldly at the sight, although he could feel his eyes burning with anger. He looked over at Tom, who wore the exact same expression on his face.

Harry smiled again, grimly. "And now for the grand finale," he said as the memory changed once more, to the last night of Marge's visit.

They were all sitting around the table, having dinner. Aunt Marge was drunk, which made her more odious than usual. She'd had a lot of wine with her meal, and had been surprisingly quiet about Harry up to that point, but when it was time for dessert and the brandy came out, she started in on him.

Harry immediately began thinking about his Handbook of Do-It-Yourself Broomcare, a method of defense he'd recently taken to practising in an attempt to block out, or at least ignore, her loathsome comments. All he had to do was get through this last dinner and then she'd be gone and Vernon would sign the Hogsmeade permission form. As Marge got warmed up, and started going on about Harry's parents, he kept telling himself over and over, 'Don't let it get to you. Remember the form.' It was like a mantra running through his head.

He managed to keep quiet and hold it in at first, but when she called James Potter a no-account, good-for-nothing, lazy scrounger, Harry finally lost control and his temper flared as he angrily protested.

Uncle Vernon was quick to see what was happening and tried to intervene but it was too late.

Marge and Harry were shouting at each other. Harry had jumped to his feet and Marge was screaming, "_They died in a car crash, you nasty little liar, and left you to be a burden on their decent, hardworking relatives! You are an insolent, ungrateful little -_ "

She couldn't finish the sentence because suddenly she started blowing up, buttons popping off as she rapidly inflated and began to rise off her chair up to the ceiling. Chaos ensued. Ripper came in, barking madly. Vernon tried to grab hold of Marge's foot to pull her down, and Ripper attacked his leg.

Harry didn't stick around to see what happened next. He ran out of the room and went straight to the cupboard, his magic blasting the door open. He quickly got his trunk and left it at the front door then sped upstairs to his bedroom and tore the floorboard free, hastily pulling out the pillowcase he'd filled with his books and birthday presents from his friends. After grabbing Hedwig's cage, he legged it downstairs.

Vernon came out of the dining room and into the hall. "_COME BACK IN HERE! COME BACK AND PUT HER RIGHT!_" he shouted hysterically.

Before he knew what he was doing, Harry kicked his trunk open and his wand was in his hand. "_She deserved it. She deserved what she got,_" he spat. "_You stay away from me!_"

As Harry watched his Memory self aim his wand threateningly at Vernon, he almost gasped. He could see his Memory self's aura, he realised. It was dark and pulsing; and not only that, his eyes were glowing unnaturally.

He could see it, feel it; and the rage inside him was so great, Harry couldn't help but wonder how he'd contained it and not done something even worse. Right at this moment, he was feeling very close to what he felt in the memory and he could barely contain it now.

"Well, well, Potter!" Voldemort said cheerfully. "How vindictive you are! Look at yourself! Look at your eyes, boy! Do you not see your power? That dark fury? How glorious!"

"Shut up!" Harry yelled. He needed to breathe. The room suddenly felt really closed in. "Just shut up!" he panted. He felt really hot all of a sudden and he couldn't breathe.

Voldemort's expression changed.

**:: Don't! ::** Tom hissed at him warningly in Parseltongue.

"You see how powerful you are, Harry?" Voldemort's smile was cruel. His eyes glinted. "And all it takes to unleash it is to say something about your worthless bully of a father and your Mudblood mother!" he said triumphantly.

"DON'T YOU _DARE_ CALL HER THAT!" Harry heard a roar in his ears as a rage he had never known before surged through him.

And then suddenly he heard Voldemort scream.

The mirror in the portrait had burst into flames.

Voldemort jumped back, brushing his robes frantically, but when he realised he wasn't on fire, he threw his head back and started laughing like a maniac.

Tom hastily drew his wand and cast an Aguamenti, trying to douse the flames.

"Dear me!" Voldemort said when he stopped laughing. "Yes. You're more powerful than I thought." He looked at Tom. "You better mind yourself, boy!" he grinned. "It looks like Potter here can do magic in the portrait...or at least on your side of it," he said smugly.

Harry looked at them both in horror then ran out of the room.

* * *

><p>tbc...<p> 


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